Seeing Through the Eyes of Icarus
by Thrae Elddim
Summary: When Steve Rogers saw a robot and an assassin tumble out of a portal, it changed his life forever. When Tony Stark crashed into the Winter Soldier, the last thing he expected was to end up in 1943 Brooklyn. Why did the Winter Soldier steal a time machine in the first place? And why is Tony so certain he's going to die before the war is over? Superhusbands/Stony.
1. Introduction: Before the Sun

Hello, here I am with my first Marvel fic! I'm really excited about this. I love the MCU and I've wanted to contribute to it for a long while.

This is completed already, so I'll be posting weekly while I work on my NaNo project. If any of you reading are on the NaNoWriMo website, head over and add me! My username is the same as on here.

Please tell me about any errors, but be gentle about it and I'll correct them as swiftly as I may. Flames will be used by SHIELD in their defrosting of Cap.

 **Note:** Sorry about the weirdness that happened before. I still don't understand what went wonky with the formatting here, but hopefully I've corrected it.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

 **Introduction: Before the Sun**

" _Remember tonight... for it is the beginning of always"_

― _Dante Alighieri_

If there was one thing Steve trusted, it was his heart. Where his brain was deceived and his senses lied, he knew he could listen to that frantic, uneven beat inside his chest and it would lead him right. That usually gave him nothing but trouble.

This time though, it was different. Whenever he thought back on this time, his heart sang and a smile spread on his face. Somehow, it always helped, because this was the time that kept him going.

It was March, 1943 and Steve had been rejected from the army for the third time. It was his bad health, his skinny frame, his frail body, and he hated it. Not for the first time, he hated the body that he was given for not being able to keep up with him and his dreams.

When a bright blue light deposited something in an alley with a loud crash, it was able to get him there. All he wanted was to see what it was. If he could help.

What he did was almost get his head blown off by a man in a gas mask. It was so sudden, Steve barely had the opportunity to duck. With a yelp, he dove behind a dumpster.

When what sounded like a car crash happened on the other side of it, he couldn't help sticking his head out again. The fight that he saw astounded him. The man in the gas mask had a metal arm, which had made the grinding crushing noise when it crashed into the arm of what could only be a robot. It was bright red and gold, the eyes glowing white and almost alive as it gripped the man's metal arm and used it to throw him into a brick wall.

The man hit it with his feet and used the force to throw himself back at the robot, a knife gleaming in his hand. This time he scored the victory, the knife a distraction for a punch to the face that rattled the metal of the robot's head.

The robot flew back into the opposite wall but got to its feet quickly. For a moment they simply stood there, watching and analyzing each other.

"I don't want to fight you," the man said, voice deep and gravelly and strangely familiar through the gas mask.

"Yeah? Well I want to fight you," the robot retorted in a tinny, but angry voice.

Steve nearly fell over in his hiding place. A machine that could talk? Never mind talking, it could feel and want things? That was impossible, he hadn't even dreamed that when he was drawing his comics!

"Why are you so set in fighting me?" the gas masked man questioned. Somehow he merely seemed curious, rather than afraid or angry like any normal (sane) person would be. Like Steve knew he would be.

"You tried to kill the Cap. You nearly succeeded. Why wouldn't I want to fucking kill you after that?" the machine replied, it's voice suddenly like metal grinding together. Was it possible for a mechanical voice to be furious?

The man in the gas mask was still, and silent for a long minute. "When the time is right, you can do what you like to me," he offered, emotionless, "But for now, stay out of my way, Iron Man." He said the last two words like a name, or a title, which Steve found curious. What machine had a name?

Before the Iron Man could do anything, gas mask man melted into the shadows. One minute he was there, the next he wasn't, as if he had never been.

Now that the confrontation was over, Steve fell back against the dumpster. His chest felt tight, like he was on the verge of having an asthma attack, but he knew better. It was the relief of a fight being done with, the adrenaline fading away, even though he hadn't been directly involved after the first shot.

"You okay, kid?" the metallic voice of the robot asked. Without his noticing it had walked, strangely silently for being made of metal, to stand at the side of the dumpster.

"Yeah. Yeah, I wasn't hurt," Steve told it, getting to his feet. It left him several inches shorter than the robot, but he was used to that. Being short, not robots.

"Good," the robot said, and began to walk away.

The entire thing over, and its attribution to stress inevitable, Steve began to move on as well. He was almost at the mouth of the alley when the voice called after him, "Hey kid."

With a roll of his eyes, Steve said, "I'm not a kid."

When he looked over his shoulder, the robot seemed stunned. There was no movement, the glow in its chest and eyes dull before they suddenly brightened. "You remind me a lot of him," the robot, Iron Man, said with a grin in its voice.

Steve's eyes were wide and he knew his mouth was gaping open as he watched fire spurt from the bottom of the robot's boots. The robot was propelled into the sky, and after it gave him a salute, the metal being disappeared beyond his sight. The night was suddenly darker and less interesting, the usual yowling cats and whistling wind accompanying him where he stood in that alley.

Shaking his head and wondering if maybe he was being too hard on himself (that couldn't have possibly been real), Steve slowly walked away from the place that had tipped the first domino in an extraordinary events.

Bucky was never going to believe this.

 **0-0-0-0-0**

Sure enough, when he got in, his best friend was mad with worry. "What happened? You were supposed to be home half an hour ago," Bucky demanded, examining every inch of the shorter man for injury, "Did you get mugged again? Should I go out and give the bastards what for?"

Still bewildered by what happened, Steve shook his head. "No, it was nothing, I just… I think stress is getting to me or something," he said, not sure how to phrase what he had just seen. He was better at drawing things than describing them.

"What happened?" Bucky asked again. He closed the door behind his friend and walked him to the couch, sat beside him.

"I was getting home and then I saw this… whitish blue light," Steve began, and with surprisingly few interruptions he told the whole story. It was halting, the words never quite right, but telling it to Bucky lifted a weight off his shoulders.

"So you're saying that you saw a robot fighting a guy with a metal arm because the guy nearly killed one of the robot's friends," Bucky summarized, dumbfounded, "And then one just disappeared and the other compared you to his almost-dead friend then flew off." He had gone from sitting back attentively to leaning forward, fist supporting his jaw.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, still not sure himself.

"You're right, stress is killing you," Bucky said, in response to his friend's earlier statement, "Let's eat and then get to bed." That was so him, thinking that food and sleep solved everything.

Steve smiled and pushed himself to his feet. On the more than likely chance that this really was just stress, he should be vegging out on the sofa with his feet on his best friend's lap, or turning in for an early night. But there was no way he was letting Bucky into the kitchen after that fiasco with the grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Ham sandwiches or ham sandwiches?" he called in a dry voice, remembering that he needed to go out and pick up something more from the grocers the instant Bucky got paid.

"Fried chicken," Bucky responded in a wishful tone.

"Ham sandwiches it is, then," Steve decided, and set to making them.

Things would be better, or at least less mad, in the morning. They had to be.


	2. That Strange Mechanic

Hey all, here I am with the actual first chapter as an apology for the weirdness that happened with the formatting of the intro. Here's hoping that's the last we see of it!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

 **Chapter One: That Strange Mechanic**

 _"There are no coincidences in life. What person that wandered in and out of your life was there for some purpose, even if they caused you harm. Sometimes, it doesn't make sense the short periods of time we get with people, or the outcomes from their choices. However, if you turn it over to God he promises that you will see the big picture in the hereafter. Nothing is too small to be a mistake."_

― Shannon L. Alder

The next morning was, indeed, less mad. Gossip flew everywhere about the bright light, and the shooting star that had come so close, and the strange noise of grating metal that they had heard from the alley, but no one even thought about, never mind guessed the truth of the matter.

As he went about his usual business, Steve felt inordinately grateful for the obliviousness of his neighbors. There was no chance of anyone connecting him to it. No awkward questions or suspicious glances.

Now that the United States was at war, everything different was a possible Nazi threat. It felt a little ridiculous. Of course there were spies and the like, but what kind of spy would make a flying robot?

No, it actually made him antsy for other reasons. Where before it was important to hide the keen glances he would give to men as well as women, now it was essential. He wanted to fight in the army, not get thrown into prison as a possible Nazi spy as well as a queer.

He was so busy thinking on what had happened and what it all meant that he didn't notice the man in front of him until he walked right into him. "Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly, and took in who he had bumped. If it was Mr Hornberger again, he'd be in some serious trouble.

Luckily, it wasn't. Instead, a handsome man smiled a few inches down at him. "No harm, no foul, short stuff," the man said cheerfully, examining him with dark eyes that were far too clever for his own good. He was a strange one, hair messy rather than smoothed back like most men and wearing a black long sleeved shirt under a dark grey one, oil stained jeans that hugged his legs, and sneakers like Steve had never seen before.

"I haven't seen you around these parts before," the blonde said interestedly. This part of town didn't get too many visitors for a reason.

"Got kinda lost, I'm not from around here," the man admitted, putting a grease stained hand through his already fly-away hair. He grimaced as he looked around, obviously trying to place himself.

Steve smiled. "It's pretty easy to get lost around here. Where you heading?" he questioned. His errands could wait when someone, especially someone so interesting, needed help.

"That's the thing," the man prefaced agitatedly, "I don't know where I am, but I don't know where I'm going either. Just kinda… stuck. With no way to get back to where I was." The man paced as he rambled, turning smartly on his heel at the curb and right before he would have hit a building. It seemed to be his natural state, his hands waving animatedly. Perhaps he was part Italian, he had the tanned skin.

Steve pulled him out of the way of a disgruntled-looking mother and the line of children following her like ducklings. "In that case, do you want to get some coffee? Maybe talking it out might help," he suggested. He had to remind himself to release the man's sleeve, or else he might think he was a weirdo.

The man blinked down at him, face surprised and amused at once. "Yeah, sure, why not? Where has some good coffee around here?" he replied, head swiveling every which way as if he expected a diner or coffee shop to appear out of nowhere.

To Steve's embarrassment, his reply ended up being a loud sneeze. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I think I'm getting sick." He knew he should have ignored the blue light last night and gotten home to their semi-warm flat faster… He already got sick too often to work, even without being stupid and curious.

"Want me to walk you home? You look like a good breeze will knock you over," the man offered glibly.

"Sure," Steve replied with a shrug. It wasn't like he and Bucky had anything worth taking, except the last vestiges of the bread and ham, if the man was a robber. He didn't seem the type, though, and it would be humiliating to keel over on the way back. "Steve Rogers," he introduced himself, offering his hand.

For a moment the man simply stared, eyes roaming Steve's face but at the same time looking like he was mentally somewhere else. It was a little awkward. "Tony Stark," he finally said, a mischievous grin slowly growing on his face.

"Good to meet you," Steve returned, and turned around to lead the way back to his place.

Stark kept pace easily, eyes everywhere at once as they passed through Brooklyn. "This doesn't seem like the friendliest of places. What's a little thing like you doing out here alone?" he asked as they passed by a shifty-eyed group hanging around on a stoop.

"Unless I pick a fight, nobody bothers with me," Steve replied gratefully, "I don't have anything worth stealing and Bucky, he's my best friend, has probably knocked out all of them at one point or another." Mostly because they thought they could beat up Steve without consequences, but sometimes for Bucky's own reasons. Dockside politics were beyond his scope, and nothing he wanted to understand anyways.

At the mention of Bucky, Stark's smile turned frozen. "Best friend, huh?" he breathed, obviously not intending for it to be heard.

Steve gave him a look but didn't say anything. No, he sneezed again. "I hate being sick," he mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. It may have been March, but the air was still chilly.

"Get sick often then?" Stark questioned. A corner of his lips quirked up in half a smile, as though he was laughing at a private joke.

"All the time," Steve said, displeased. There were very few memories he had where he wasn't sick in one way or another, even without counting his faulty lungs and weak heart.

They ascended the stairs then, Steve having to stop several times on the flights up in order to catch his breath. Normally it was only once or twice. But the rattling in his chest was worse than usual, and his breath had a sour tang he knew too well: infection.

Rather than tease him like Steve was somehow expecting, Stark stayed and waited for him to get his breath back. It was appreciated. Even if his comments about the building weren't really. "What kind of dump is this?" the brunet asked, wrinkling his nose at the faded wallpaper and peeling carpet the color of cat sick. It even smelled a little like cat sick, not that Steve had to deal with any kind of smell too often with his constantly clogged sinuses.

"This is my apartment building," Steve wheezed. His hands were mostly steady as he dug in his pocket for his key and unlocked the front door.

"Well it's a dump," Stark reiterated, eyeing the bare bulb with disdain as it began swinging slightly. Someone must have come out into the hall upstairs.

Steve smiled, keeping his agreement to himself. "It's all we can afford," he said, shrugging as he opened the door. He kept his coat on, as the small studio he shared with Bucky wasn't much warmer than outside, without the other man's body heat helping heat the small space.

"Can we turn the heater on?" Stark requested, shutting the door behind himself. The click of the lock echoed in the small room.

A flush took Steve's cheeks. "It doesn't really work well enough to justify it," he explained, and went to heat up the stove for the percolator. At least that would help.

Instead of complaining, as Steve privately expected, Stark crossed the room in a few strides and began examining the ancient furnace. "This thing is a wreck," he pronounced with disgust after a moment of examination, "Do health codes really allow this sort of thing? Do you have a wrench and a Phillips screwdriver?" He looked over his shoulder expectantly from where he knelt in front of the appliance.

Steve swore his heart leapt into his throat. "You can fix it?" he asked, pleasantly surprised as he reached for the wrench. It, and two screwdrivers, were kept in the kitchen in case anything needed repairs that he and Bucky had an idea how to fix. The heater had been beyond them until now.

The smirk Stark gave him made his chest clench up, and he ended up coughing into his sleeve. "Don't get too excited, there," the older man drawled, eyes sparkling, "I made a self-sustaining energy source in a cave, of course I can fix a heater. Wrench and screwdriver?"

The tools were handed over and Stark immediately set to work. It was fascinating to watch him get lost in his own thoughts, muttering under his breath (nothing complimentary) as he took apart the heater. When he got it down to its bare bones, he began putting it back together again in a different configuration. Some parts were altered and others simply rearranged until it looked nothing like it did before, smaller and neater.

Half-way through the job, the percolator was ready. Steve interestedly looked at the inner workings of what Stark was doing as he set the full mug on the floor beside the man. "How's it going?" he asked, taking a sip of his own beverage. Unable to generally afford milk or sugar, he had learned to drink it straight.

It didn't seem to be a problem for Stark; he gulped down the scalding beverage without a thought, or even a wince. "Lucky there's so many spare parts in here," he reported, tightening a bolt, "Otherwise I might have had to scavenge. Give me a few more minutes and I'll test it."

Unwilling to disturb his new acquaintance any longer, Steve curled up on the sofa and watched him quietly. The couch was the most uncomfortable thing he had ever sat on, felt like two boards nailed together and upholstered with someone's old jeans. It provided a good vantage point to look out the window and draw, though.

When Stark turned the dial on the heater, a blast of hot air shot out. It felt like sinking into a hot bath, and Steve shivered pleasantly with the sudden loosening of his muscles. A sigh of pleasure sneaked out of his throat as the air flow modulated itself.

There was another click of the dial, and another burst of air shot out. This time it was cold, like the air outside. Quickly, it was changed back to the previous setting and the room began to warm up.

"What was that?" Steve asked, frowning at the man who was screwing the case back onto the heater. Several parts were still on the floor, apparently unneeded.

"That was me being a genius," Stark declared as he worked, "Your heater works, about five times more efficiently than it ever has, and if you turn the dial the other way, you have air conditioning." The smile he shot over his shoulder was proud, and a little teasing, as he wiped his dirty hands on his jeans.

Steve's mouth hung open slightly as he stared at the man. It switched to the heater, which worked more quietly than he had ever experience, then back to the man who had repaired it. "Thank you," he finally said, every ounce of gratitude he felt in his voice, "Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do for you?" As long as it was something he could do, he would.

When Stark asked for another cup of coffee and to keep the parts he hadn't needed, Steve agreed easily. There was plenty of coffee, and he had no use for spare mechanical bits.

They were drinking their second cups of coffee and Stark was laughing over one of Steve's sneezing fits when Bucky came in. "Hey, Stevie," Bucky greeted cheerfully, "Who's this?" He examined the stranger judgmentally as he kicked off his shoes and took off his coat.

"Tony Stark. Short-stuff here almost bowled me over earlier." The smile Stark gave was a little shark-like, a little frozen, but his tone was perfectly relaxed. It was a strange amalgamation of attitudes.

Steve flushed again, his only possible answer being yet another sneeze.

Bucky rolled his eyes fondly at his best friend. "James Barnes, but everybody calls me Bucky," he introduced, and headed to the percolator. "Is something on fire downstairs? I don't think this place has ever been this warm." He didn't seem too concerned, instead humming happily as he filled his favorite mug.

"Actually Stark fixed the heater," Steve corrected, giving the appliance and then its repairer a fond glance.

When Bucky spun about, it was to frown at the heater. "Seriously? I don't even hear it running," he said, and hovered a hand over the vent. The look on his face was pleasantly surprised when he felt hot air getting pushed out.

"What can I say, I'm great at what I do," Stark boasted from where he lounged on the ragged armchair.

"You a mechanic?" Bucky asked, taking his usual spot on the left side of the sofa. It was one of those things he had always been interested in, but he never got the opportunity to learn beyond the basics. No, the Depression got in the way of that dream like many others.

"Among other things," Stark replied mysteriously.

Bucky didn't take it too hard, as he raised his mug in a salute. "A man of many talents," he declared, before he took a drink.

The gesture was echoed by the other two men. At least in Steve's opinion, the job was worth more than some coffee and a cheer. "Is there anywhere you need to be?" he asked, emptying his mug.

"Nah. New in town. Noplace to go, noplace to be," Stark replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand. His smile was a little wistful, a bit sad, but that vanished when he looked at Steve again, like he was the cure for his homesickness.

"Do you at least have a place to stay?" Bucky asked, concerned.

The shake of Stark's head was slow and he masked the melancholy behind it with a shrug. "I can get by fine. Just gotta get a few jobs and I'll be set," he said, not quite optimistic.

"We don't have much, but you can sleep on the floor in here for the night, in the warm spot by the heater," Bucky offered kindly, "You fixed it. We owe you."

Steve coughed in agreement, and made a face at the taste. "I'd offer part of the bed, but I'm getting sick and Bucky has work tomorrow," he choked out, rubbing his chest with the heel of his hand.

"Getting sick? You are sick, short-stuff," Stark corrected, and got out of the chair. He set his empty mug in the sink and raided the kitchen with various sounds of dismay and disgust.

"Interesting guy," Bucky commented under his breath, watching the man in his kitchen with a raised eyebrow. "Where'd you find him, again?"

"Ran into him on the way to the post office," Steve answered. He hoped that Stark wasn't going to mess with the stove, that worked perfectly fine and they needed it.

Amused, Bucky shook his head and leaned back. "Only you, Stevie," he said fondly, groaning when he stretched in a particularly satisfying way.

Not for the first time, Steve found himself thanking God that he had gotten over his previous (huge) crush on Bucky. Otherwise that sound would have sorely tested him. As it was, he allowed his friend to lean on him and stretch out over the couch.

"This stove sucks, too. Do I even want to see your water heater?" Stark called from the kitchen.

"Probably not," Steve answered, wincing as he remembered how quickly he'd had to jump out of the shower yesterday. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes before the water went cold.

The look Stark gave him was exasperated and fond at once. "No wonder you're always sick," he declared. There was no stopping him from gathering his (borrowed) tools and marching into the bathroom, presumably to fix the hot water heater.

The moment that the clanging and swearing of Stark's tinkering started, Steve allowed himself to let out a huff. That man…

"You think he'd fix the stove, too?" Bucky whispered.

"I don't want to ask so much of him. I mean, it's not like we can pay him," Steve replied, already feeling bad about all the repair work being done. He didn't have any money, and couldn't do anything else to help besides offering him a piece of (hard) floor to rest his head on.

"Hmmm… He said he's from out of town. Maybe, if he's up for it, I could find him some work at the docks? We need a mechanic to keep the winches operating," Bucky mused, rolling his tongue along the outside of his teeth habitually.

It sounded like a plan. But for the moment, Steve was too tired to want to think about it. "I think I'm heading to bed," he said, pushing his best friend's head off his chest, "Gerroff me, ya giant mook."

More from his own movements than the strength of Steve's shoves, Bucky sat up. "Did you eat?" he asked, worried eyes glancing down at his best friend's concave stomach.

"More tired than hungry," Steve admitted. "I'll eat in the morning." He knew it wasn't the best of ideas, but his body was calling for the sweet oblivion of sleep. In the morning Bucky would press some toast down his throat, so what was the worry?

After an exchange of mumbled goodnights, Steve crawled into his side of the lumpy bed that he shared with Bucky. It was probably a little weird, two grown men sharing one bed, but it had been that way since they were kids. They were practically brothers, and they couldn't afford a second bed. Or the space to put one.

The thought of being here, with the one he cared most about, a searing enigma in his bathroom, and a working heater had him smiling. Before he realized it, his breath was deeper and more rattly with sleep.


	3. Welcome to My Life

Thank you so much to one of the guest readers for letting me know that this chapter didn't go through properly! I have no idea why it keeps copy-pasting the code for what I wrote instead of the actual words...

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

 **Chapter Two: Welcome to My Life**

" _There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature."_

― _Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey_

The next morning found Tony playing nursemaid. It was a new thing, never needed back in the twenty-first century; Bruce, Thor and Steve never got sick for obvious reasons, Nat seemed immune to everything, and whenever Clint got sick he holed up in Nat's room until he was better. It was always Tony who was sick, and Steve or Bruce taking care of him.

Now Steve was sick and Tony was left to take care of him. And the man from the future was flailing about, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do in the backwards time period he was stuck in.

Usually he would call a doctor, but he had no idea where one would be found here and it wasn't like his cell worked. Plus, he was sure Steve would fight him the whole way on it. Even now the man was stupidly stubborn.

Seriously, the stove was probably three days from busting and that morning Bucky had relayed that Steve didn't want it fixed. The brunet whispered, "Fix it anyways," with a wink and a clap to his shoulder. The man was oddly touchy-feely.

Against his will, Tony was starting to like him. Unlike the Winter Soldier he would become, Bucky was a good person. His sense of humor was irreverent, his sense of responsibility when it came to Steve was second to none, and he was stupidly nice to Tony just because he fixed things for them. There was no possible way this Bucky Barnes would do anything to harm Steve, not when he spent so much of his life and his health and his resources taking care of the small, sickly man.

Then there was skinny little Steve, who was so different from the American icon that Tony had gotten to know. No, that was a filthy lie. The man was the same, the circumstances and the body couldn't be more different. It made him feel completely foreign though.

With something approaching tenderness, Tony laid a cold rag on Steve's burning forehead. "Hey hey, it's okay," he murmured when the other man tried shaking it off.

Steve simply let out a pained groan and settled down into an uncomfortable-looking sleep.

Last night Tony had noticed the bare cupboards and empty icebox. There wasn't even ice in the box, turning it into a complete misnomer. That wouldn't do, not at all.

With Bucky working hard at the docks and Steve sick in bed, that left it up to Tony to correct the problem. But how on earth does one shop for groceries in 1943 Brooklyn? It wasn't like Costco was around.

Tony used one of Steve's drawing pencils and a scrap out of his sketchbook to leave a note on the counter, regardless of the risk of getting garroted when it was discovered. The blonde was always so protective of his sketchbooks. Satisfied, he read, 'Doing some grocery shopping. Borrowed your key and a couple of bags. -Tony.'

The canvas bags were in one of the cupboards, Steve's key in his coat pocket. It felt wrong to leave the shivering blonde, but food was necessary. Tony was positively starving, having only eaten a ham sandwich yesterday that Bucky had made for him before they settled down to sleep.

It was surprisingly easy to do the grocery shopping. There wasn't one big grocery store, but the butcher, baker, and greengrocer were highly visible and perfectly willing to do business with him despite his lack of a ration book. Admittedly it was the stuff that the butcher needed to get rid of, ground beef that was beginning to look a little wilted. The greengrocer and baker didn't even ask for the booklet, apparently only needed for things like tires and canned or imported foods.

Not for the first time, Tony found himself thankful that he had listened to Steve and Nat's nagging back in 2014. Having cash on him was a godsend. It wasn't like they accepted credit cards here.

On the way back he checked on where he had left the suit. Out of options, he had stashed it down a manhole, on a ledge that was probably meant for maintenance workers to put their tools. It was uncomfortable but probably his best bet to bank on city officials not giving a single fuck about the poor part of town or their sewage system. Until he was able to get his own place, anyhow.

It was still there, gleaming hot rod red and gold in the tiny bit of sunlight that his opening the manhole let in. Getting the smell out would probably take forever, Tony thought with distaste, as he put the lid back and went on with his day.

When he got back to the apartment, a sweet roll he bought off a street vendor half hanging out of his mouth, nothing had changed. Steve was still asleep, his note was still in place, there was still no ice in the box.

Tony grinned around his lunch when he realized what his next project would be, right after fixing the deathtrap Steve called a stove. If he played this right, he was sure he could build a refrigerator. How the hell did they live without a proper one anyways?

It was easy to spend the entire day fiddling with the kitchen appliances. Using parts he had salvaged from the heater and water heater, then the stove, Tony built onto the icebox until he was at least mostly satisfied. It wasn't quite as cold as he wanted, and it didn't have the space for a freezer compartment, but it would work better than what they had before.

Between all of it he had managed to convince Steve to eat a little (he agreed deliriously that the remains of the sweet pork bun were delicious) and drink some boiled water (there was no way in hell Tony would let him drink tap water right now) so by the time evening came, he felt like a regular housefrau. If this was how Steve felt every day that they didn't spend kicking evil villain ass, Tony would never again make fun of him for it. This shit was exhausting.

When Bucky got in, Tony was laying on the floor in front of the sofa. That thing was made by the devil, he was sure of it.

"How's Stevie?" Bucky asked, shucking his coat and boots in favor of checking on his best friend. When he touched the smaller man's face with a dirty hand, he hissed with sympathy.

"Better than he was," Tony mumbled into the carpet. It was the truth. He'd had to delay his work on the fridge for two hours while he tried to get Steve's temperature under control, only succeeding when he wrapped the man in towels he'd soaked in cold water and wrung out.

"This is better? Jesus, how bad was it?" Bucky asked, concern in every syllable.

Tony didn't bother lifting his face off the floor as he waved a hand in the vague direction of the bathroom. "Might want to change the washcloth," he suggested.

The door creaked open further, and Tony felt the thumps of Bucky's steps. The hiss of water coming out of the tap, and the splash of it being forced out of cloth, told him exactly what was happening. It made him feel a confusing mix of emotions that this Bucky was such a good friend.

"Did he eat at all?" Bucky asked over Steve's whimper of discomfort.

"Half a pork bun," Tony answered. He was uncomfortable in his position with his face and every bone in his front, plus his arc reactor, grinding into the hardwood, but he was far too lazy to move.

"Pork bun? Where'd you find one of those?" Bucky asked with longing as he walked into the kitchen. "We definitely don't have any and I don't get paid until tomorrow, or else I'd damn well get one." His stomach audibly rumbled.

Tony didn't bother responding. The food in the pantry would say it well enough.

Indeed, there was silence after the icebox was opened with a click. Only their breathing, and Steve's restless shifting, could be heard.

"Did you get us ice and groceries?" Bucky asked, disbelief and hope in his voice.

"No, I made you a refrigerator and got you groceries. You see them in there, don't you?" Tony asked irritably. Why couldn't they take it and be grateful instead of questioning everything? It was just what he did: fix the broken things he could, and throw money at the ones he couldn't put a wrench to.

"Why?" Bucky questioned, closing the door with another click.

"I was hungry, I know you're both hungry, and there was fuck all in there to eat," Tony replied, not shifting his face from the floor. Sure, he couldn't see anything but one of the sofa legs, but that was fine with him.

There was no answer to that. Instead Bucky asked if he wanted a burger, he was good enough at making those. It was as if he hadn't just questioned why their mysterious houseguest had bought them the very groceries he was about to use.

Not for the first time, Tony could see them ending up very good friends. "By the way, I fixed up the stove. It was tricky to get the pipes connected again, but I managed. Again, more efficient, less fuel needed," he summarized, understating just how much of a bitch it was to deal with that monstrosity of cooking technology. The last thing he needed was for even Bucky to start being insistent on repaying him for things he would have done anyways.

"Thanks. I swear, I could smell gas every time Steve turned the thing on," Bucky said, relief plain to hear on his voice.

"Yep, that thing was about to blow," Tony said helpfully.

"He's such a stubborn little punk," Bucky complained fondly. There was a clanging as he set a pan on the stove and a little click as he turned on a burner.

"Don't I know it," Tony mumbled to himself. While Steve wasn't so little in his time, he was still stubborn and definitely what Bucky would call a punk. If anything, he had only grown more so since getting defrosted.

Bucky talked about his asshole coworkers and utterly uninspiring day for a bit while the burgers cooked, sounding just as disgusted with his job as Tony felt about it. Yes, he was a superhero. No, he didn't like the backbreaking labor that was getting described.

"They're looking for an engineer," Bucky said casually as he brought out the food.

"Really?" Tony asked disinterestedly as he bit into one of the burgers. The man was right, he did make an okay burger. Not the best, but not the worst he'd ever had.

Bucky watched him carefully as he started eating. "Nothing too physical, just gotta keep the machines running and fix them when they break," he relayed, as if he hadn't asked around to see if there was an opening. He thought he and Steve had been slick when they were talking last night. Please.

While Tony wasn't the biggest fan of sweaty, smelly workers in his vicinity (the incident with his elevator came poignantly to mind) he didn't have many options right now. He could sell out his skills as a repairman, but that was unreliable. The few hundred dollars he had in his wallet wouldn't last too long, even if he scrimped and saved it.

"It's worth a look," Tony said nonchalantly, as if this didn't solve a huge dilemma he had been facing. He needed to find a way back to 2014, but while he was here he needed a roof over his head and food in his stomach. If nothing else, this job would give him access to tools in case he had to invent a goddamned time machine.

The smirk on Bucky's face wasn't encouraging. "Think you're up for it, thin man?" he teased.

"Nothing wrong with not being a lardass like some people around here," Tony returned bitingly as he took a pointed chomp out of his burger. It wasn't his fault he was built like a beanpole, he'd always been that way.

"You're just jealous," Bucky said, grinning as he puffed out his admittedly impressive pecs. Nothing like future-Steve, but not bad.

"In your dreams, bud," Tony muttered, rolling his eyes.

The rest of the night was comfortable, if not great. They managed to get some more food (a few bites of a fifth burger that Tony gulped down the rest of) and more water in Steve before they gave up for the night and turned in. This time, Tony had the presence of mind to wonder exactly how Bucky shared a bed with Steve all the time without a) getting sick, or b) jumping his bones. As he rolled into the most comfortable spot he could find on the floor, Tony privately admitted that if this Steve Rogers were in 2014, he would have… Well, it didn't matter. This was 1943 and Steve was straight and Tony was more screwed than usual.

0-0-0-0-0

The next morning he woke to Bucky kicking his ankle. "We need to get going soon if I'm going to introduce you to the boss," the taller, broader man said with a yawn.

"Did you guys eat yet?" Tony asked, reluctantly sitting up. What felt like every joint in his body cracked.

"Got Steve to drink something," Bucky mumbled, shoving a sausage wrapped in a pancake at him.

It was down Tony's throat in probably 3.5 seconds. A second one followed quickly.

They managed to stumble into their shoes and get two cups of coffee each into their bellies before dragging themselves out the door. Neither was a morning person like half the people walking down the damn street with them. The other half were just as tired and bitchy as they were, which shouldn't have been nearly as much of a comfort as it was.

The docks were just like Tony had privately expected: busy, crowded, and smelly. A few men called out to Bucky, who gave them each a wave as he dragged the shorter man to a squat building just within the gates. Inside was just as dismal, a typewriter clacking in the background and a murmur of voices mixing with the noise invading from outside.

Instead of stopping to speak with the pretty blonde secretary, Bucky led the way to a door near the back. "You ready?" he asked, hand raised to knock.

"Yeah," Tony confirmed. For some reason he was feeling nervous, more than he had since he learned that Steve had nearly been killed by the Winter Soldier. It must have been the fabled 'first interview' jitters.

Bucky knocked on the door. When a command came from within to open it, he did so and ushered Tony in first.

The office was small, cramped, and reeked of cigar smoke. It was the acrid, terrible smelling stuff too, which didn't help the impression that the many file cabinets and obese man behind a huge desk provided. "Is this the engineer you mentioned, Barnes?" the man huffed in a smoke-roughened voice. Tony gave him maybe five more years before cancer set in.

"Yes, sir. This is Tony Stark. Stark, this is Mr Cussler," Bucky introduced more formally than Tony had yet heard.

"Pleasure to meet you," Tony said, giving his most glittering smile as he offered a hand. It was also his most fake.

"Likewise," Cussler grunted, before dismissing Bucky with a wave of his hand. He shook Tony's, his palm soft and bereft of a real docker's callouses.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Bucky give him a thumbs up and cheesy grin as he closed the door behind himself. Then the man from the future was alone with the dock manager.

"Take a seat, Mr Stark," Cussler said, gesturing to one of the straight backed chairs in front of his desk, "What kind of experience do you have?"

It was one of the trickier questions to answer, without giving too much away. "I can repair anything with a motor or that deals with electricity," Tony said bluntly, "I've restored cars from rust and dust with my bare hands, rebuilt heaters and made a refrigerator out of scraps, among other things." He tapped his finger on his knee, impatient for the inevitable posturing to be over with.

The man looked slightly more amenable. "Made a refrigerator, you say," he repeated thoughtfully, fingering the end of his beard.

"Yes, I have," Tony confirmed.

"Barnes is as good as his word, and his word is very good around these parts," Cussler said, eyeing Tony squintily, "He says you can fix near anything, and I'm inclined to believe him. I will need to test you, though. You sure you won't keel over?"

It took too much effort to keep from rolling his eyes. This wasn't 2014, and he didn't own Stark Industries yet. He couldn't afford it. "I haven't yet," Tony replied painfully.

"Good enough," Cussler accepted. He got up from his chair, belly jiggling behind his waistcoat as he did so, and gestured for Tony to follow him.

He did so, springing lightly to his feet. "What's the test, boss?" Tony asked casually, trailing the other man out the office door and back through the office. This time he paused to wink flirtatiously at the secretary, who smiled prettily at him. Yep, still had it.

They passed two quays busy with activity. Ships were being unloaded in a hurry, cargo swinging everywhere in nets and on pallets as people dodged around beneath. Instead of going to either of those, they paused at one that was empty and lifeless.

"This winch is broken," Cussler told him plainly, banging his hand against the nearest piece of machinery, "Figure out what's wrong with it by the end of the day, and I'll pay you for it and consider you for the job. Fix it by the end of the day, and you've definitely got yourself a very well paying job."

Tony raised an eyebrow as he looked at the winch. "How much are we talking here?" he asked, circling and taking stock of it.

"Seven bucks for finding out what's wrong, fifteen for fixing it," Cussler offered.

Initially Tony balked at being offered seven fucking dollars for consulting on a problem he knew nothing about. When he counted for inflation though, that ended up being about a hundred. Still chump change. "Fifteen for figuring it out, twenty for fixing it," he countered.

Cussler looked ready to have a coronary. "Ten and fifteen."

"Thirteen and eighteen."

"Ten and sixteen."

"Twelve and seventeen." Tony crossed his arms, unwilling to budge on it. He knew what his skills were worth (much more than this) but if he started out too high, he'd be passed over without a second glance.

Cussler sighed and wiped his forehead with a fine linen handkerchief. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr Stark. Twelve and seventeen, it is," he relented.

They shook on it, and Cussler left him with a stockpile of tools and a time limit. This was going to be more than a little difficult. But Tony always did his best work under pressure.

As soon as Tony started dismantling the machinery, he got an idea of what was going on: basic wear and tear. There had been some maintenance as it broke, obvious by new parts and attachments, but not nearly enough to keep it running efficiently. The signs of corrosion from the sea air were everywhere, and the lines and wires and gears within were crusted with dirt and oil.

It was really lucky, Tony thought, that he had picked up loads of tricks for dealing with that sort of mess in his career as Iron Man. And there were materials similar to what he was used to, if not quite as refined. He set to work in scrubbing down the most essential bits.

By the time lunch came around Tony had managed to get through most of the essential cleaning. When he stuck his grease stained face into the office, advising that they really needed to keep gunk from building up in their machinery, he barely kept himself from laughing the whole way out at the look on Cussler's face. It was priceless, somewhere between shocked and horrified that simple dirt could destroy his precious machinery.

By the time the bell rang for the end of the day shift, Tony had finished cleaning out the important parts and was putting the casing back together. "Give me a minute to screw this back in, and we'll be in business," he called upon seeing Cussler on the ground. He had climbed up the arm like a monkey to get to everything, seeing as he hadn't been given a damn safety sling. This really was a terrible era for worker's rights.

The last screw in, he slid down the machinery to land directly in front of his new boss with a cocky grin. "Everything is set to go," he said.

There was another man with him, tall and well built and looking at him skeptically, probably a foreman of some kind. Without a word the foreman began to work the machinery. Everything went so smoothly, he even looked slightly impressed. "You say that it was just from grease and dirt build-up?" he asked as he shut down the winch.

"Yep. I got the dirt out of the most important parts, but the whole thing needs a deep-clean if it's going to keep working and I bet the others do too," Tony reported. He knew they did just from looking at the outsides caked in grime.

Cussler gave the foreman a sharp jerk of his head, and the other man left quickly. "Come with me back to the office," he told Tony, and started waddling away.

The moment they got inside, they took their previous places on opposite sides of the desk. "Your pay for the day," Cussler said, shoving five bills across the desktop at him, "Now to talk about your job…"

The debate went on for an hour over pay, hours, and worker's comp. The last was a completely new idea to Cussler for some reason, and the benefits had to be rigorously explained before they bargained over that.

Tony ended up walking out of the office better off than he ever thought he would have gotten when he entered. Not only did he have the seventeen dollars for today in his pocket but a starting bonus of fifty dollars, a guarantee of three dollars per hour, and it was stipulated in his contract that if he was injured on the job his medical bills would be paid. There was nothing about paid sick leave, but Tony had every intention of not needing it.

Not when Steve would become Captain America that June. No, he had every intention of following his Captain. His contract reflected that too.

When he got back to Steve and Bucky's flat, he was almost immediately assaulted by the latter man. "How'd it go? I assume it went well?" the taller brunet demanded, steering him inside.

"How much do you pay for this shithole?" Tony questioned, not quite believing that he was going to do this. The fucking cave in Afghanistan was sometimes nicer than this building.

"Forty five dollars. Why?" Bucky asked, blinking with confusion. He knew already how much Tony disliked their building.

"That's ridiculous," Tony scoffed, again adjusting for inflation in his head. That was the equivalent of a little under six hundred and twenty bucks in 2014 for what was worth half that.

Bucky shrugged uncomfortably. "It was all we could get. Why?" he asked again.

"Is the room across the hall empty?" Tony replied with a grin.

The hoot of ecstatic laughter that burst from Bucky's chest nearly warmed his own. The arm that got thrown over his shoulder definitely did. "You sly son of a bitch, I knew you would get it!" he cheered.

"You got the job down at the docks?" Steve's weak voice asked from the bed. If nothing else it was good to see him awake and coherent.

The smirk on Tony's face was more affectionate than it should have been, closer to a real smile than he had been since he landed in 1943. "You doubted me?" he teased, "I'm hurt." It took all his will to keep the nickname 'Capsicle' from coming out of his mouth, like he so wanted.

When Steve smiled, he lit up. Even though he was sick and skinny and relegated to bed like an invalid (which he kind of was) he glowed like the goddamned sun. Like this he was beautiful, maybe even more so than his future self if for no other reason than Captain America being more handsome than beautiful.

Tony grinned back, and hoped that no one noticed his heart trying to beat out of his chest. He was so, so fucked.


	4. As Time Goes By

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

 **Chapter Three: As Time Goes By**

" _For what it's worth: it's never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again."_

― _Eric Roth, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button Screenplay_

Life started to settle down after that first day at the docks. Of course, it took some time to get everything set- like the vacant room across the hall.

Upon being shown it, Tony had scoffed at the forty dollar rent price. It was as bad as Steve and Bucky's place, just dustier and devoid of furniture. "Seriously, forty dollars? This place is worth thirty, if that," he told the crook of a landlady.

The woman blinked and stammered, obviously surprised at someone actually coming out and telling it to her face. "It isn't up for debate," she finally said, almost firmly.

What followed was a blackmailing that went down in neighborhood history. None of it could be overheard, the landlady was too sly for that, but there was no other possible reason that Steve and Bucky's rent could have gone down a whole fifteen dollars. From the whispers of the neighbors, theirs all went down substantial amounts as well.

After that, there was a whole lot of remodeling. Except for Steve and Bucky's room, and Tony's, every unit in the building had repairmen in and out of it at least once- usually five or six times- in March alone. It made life much easier for everyone, left them happier and further from the edge of starvation.

Bucky and Steve were actually able to keep food in the cupboards, and even afford medication when it was called for. It felt like a miracle.

Just for getting their rent reduced, Tony was secretly called a hero. More often than not his door was knocked on when he got home and a pie, or loaf of bread, or plate of dinner, was forced on him by grateful neighbors. Except for when an Arab lady gifted him with several meat and vegetable wraps she called shawarma, he would always knock on the door across the hall and insist that Steve and Bucky share in the spoils.

When the repairs started getting done, he became the darling of the whole building. It soon became clear that Steve and Bucky's apartment was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to nonfunctional appliances. The repairmen were disgusted by the inadequacy of what they were seeing. Only then did everyone seem to realize just how bad things really were.

Three months later Tony still barely needed to buy groceries, he was so often plied with edibles by the neighbors. More often than not those ended up in Bucky's stomach, and when Steve was within sight, in his. Except for that shawarma, over which Tony threatened to burn Bucky alive when he looked at it too long. He was absurdly protective over that particular dish.

That being said, Steve was sometimes allowed a little. There was never much of it, so he never got his own wrap, but just a few bites off of a shared wrap meant more than the most ardent declarations of friendship with Tony. It was a strange and dubious honor.

It had become Tony's mission to feed Steve whenever he wasn't at work, and the still-skinny blonde wasn't arguing. This was more than he'd had available to eat in any other part of his life. One of the better results was that he wasn't sick as often, even if it didn't solve the bigger problems.

When asked why he did that, Tony had shrugged uncomfortably. "When I have a problem, I throw money at it to make it go away," he explained from the other side of his kitchen (work) table, never taking his eyes from the tiny thing he was tinkering with, "The problem is you being too sick and skinny. The solution is obviously making you take your medicine and eat, so I have Bucky bully you into taking your meds, and I feed you. Simple. Hand me the tiny Phillips."

Warm and fuzzy inside, Steve let the topic drop. It was enough that he had another friend who cared about him. Not to mention trusted him with a spare key, the responsibility of picking up his mail, and knowing where he keeps the emergency stash of money.

For all their friendship had progressed, Steve still felt his heart rate pick up whenever Tony entered a room. There was something about his too-clever eyes, the sparkle of his real smile, the confidence that choked the air around him. No matter how careful he was to keep it to himself, he was falling head over heels for Tony Stark and he knew it.

Though maybe he wasn't the only one, no matter how wrong it was. Sometimes Tony would ghost a hand over Steve's lower back when passing in the tight space of a kitchen, give him a glance far too heated to be friendly when the man thought he wasn't looking, look him dead in the eyes over the shoulder of any girl he was dancing with. It was all so intense, whatever this unspoken and unconfirmed thing was.

It wasn't until June 14th, on the way back from that disastrous movie viewing, that Bucky made a mention of it. No matter how often he contemplatively glanced from one of them to the other, only to cover it up with a terrible joke. "C'mon, I thought you were trying to keep your pretty face now that Tony's in the picture," he teased, an arm thrown over Steve's skinny shoulders as always.

For the first time, Steve froze uncomfortably under the playful gaze of his best friend. It was something that he had been struggling to admit even to himself, and here Bucky was speaking of it in a back alley right after a fight that had left Steve with a bloody nose. His sense of timing was deplorable.

"You mean you… know?" Steve questioned hesitantly, barely daring to whisper.

Bucky snorted and the look he gave the shorter man made him blush. "I think the whole building knows, Stevie," he answered dryly, "This morning the blind lady downstairs was betting money on you guys getting together by the end of the month."

Steve choked on his own spit. "There's a betting pool?" he demanded, mortified.

The grin Bucky gave him wasn't reassuring. "I put down three bucks on you getting your act together the day the army accepts you," he said cheerfully.

That was code for "never", and Steve wasn't sure which part he resented more: the implication that he would never succeed in enlisting, or the assurance that he would never get up the guts to do anything about Tony. All he could do was scowl up at Bucky.

The smirk Bucky wore dared him to contest that. They walked across a street then, and they separated with a playful shove and growl. They got mistaken for being together-together enough as is.

"Where are we going?" Steve asked. This wasn't the way to the flat.

"We have a double date," Bucky replied far too cheerfully.

Steve rolled his eyes, sure that this was just Bucky trying to win the betting pool. "What did you tell her about me?" he asked, resigned to another boring evening of being ignored in favor of his best friend.

"I didn't have to say anything," Bucky said mysteriously.

For the last minute or so of the walk there, Steve trying to at least clean up his nose, he was confused. He didn't know any girls besides Bucky's sister, and that would never happen even if he did want it to. Which thank God he didn't. So what was going on here?

At the entrance of the World Expo of Tomorrow, that question was answered without doubt: Tony was talking to a short pretty girl, charming smile in place. It was obvious that she was taken with him, leaning forward and bright eyed. It made something in Steve's gut shrivel up.

"Hey, no stealing my date, Tony," Bucky reprimanded him with a grin. He put an arm around the girl's shoulders and began steering her away.

"Didn't want your girl to feel neglected while you were busy rescuing Steve," Tony replied suavely, winking at the blonde as if to say, "No hard feelings." As Bucky led the way into the Expo, hurriedly introducing everyone on the way, Tony walked very closely alongside Steve and utterly ignored the other two.

Steve was somewhere between flabbergasted and exasperated. Did Bucky intend to out him to the object of his affections? And lose any stakes in the betting pool as he did? The man was insane.

Not that he was objecting, really. Throughout the night Tony was just like always, laughing to himself and commenting snarkily and making references no one else understood, only more physical. He was always within arm's reach, usually close enough to feel his body heat. Once or twice their hands brushed together, and it sent Steve's faulty heart into a samba every time.

When they all stopped to witness Howard Stark's flying car, Bucky called over his shoulder, "You guys related?" His voice said he was pulling Tony's leg, even if his face was truly curious.

When he looked, Steve saw startling similarities. The same brown hair, although styled completely differently, similar facial structures and a shared thing for artful facial hair were the tip of the iceberg. Both were short for men (though still several inches taller than Steve), had sort of Italian coloring, and the charisma that they radiated nearly choked the air around them, drawing everyone in sight. They even had the same surname! The only significant difference that Steve could detect was that whatever Howard Stark was, Tony Stark was… more. More beautiful, more compelling, more everything.

As Tony looked at the stage, his eyes were frozen. The nod that he answered with was accompanied by a bitter twist of his lips. "Not that he'll acknowledge it," he mumbled barely loud enough to hear.

There was a whole story behind that sentence, Steve knew it like he knew Tony loved shawarma. Instead of prying, he allowed himself to be distracted.

"The propulsion system is flawed," Tony said gleefully in his ear, "That car'll crash down in a few seconds." He then went on to ramble about exactly what was wrong with it, just that he could see and hear, and not notice Steve shiver.

Indeed, the car did crash. The coverup of, "I did say within a few years, didn't I?" was graceful and humorous over the applause.

It was around then that Steve excused himself to the restroom. On the way back he saw a recruitment tent, and teetered on the edge of going in. His stubbornness won out over his desire to please, and he went in.

That was where Tony found him not a few minutes later, staring at the posters. "You gonna try again?" the older man asked softly.

"I can't give up," Steve protested. Something inside of him died a little more whenever he imagined it. That wasn't who he was.

"I'm not asking you to. Whether it's attempt number six or six million, you'll keep going until they accept you. But just think, they might actually do it," Tony warned.

It didn't sound like such a bad consequence to Steve. That was what he wanted, after all, to go to war.

When he told Tony this, the sad smile the man gave him was like the one Dorothy gave all the wonderful folks she had met in Oz. Like they were never going to see each other again. "I think that if anyone can make it, it's you," he said, and turned around to leave. "Come find me at the food court after you're done in here."

Determination flared up in Steve again. Maybe it would happen on this try, lucky number six.

When they got home Steve finally took the enlistment documents out of his breast pocket to show Bucky that yes, he finally made it. But the other man was already asleep on his side of the bed, snoring like a chainsaw without having even taken off his boots. It had been a long night for everyone, ending at nearly midnight.

To keep war business out of a date, Steve hadn't said anything about it to Tony while they were out. Now he sneaked out of his own studio and knocked on the door of the one across the hall. He knew he wouldn't be a disturbance, Tony never slept.

The door was opened and he was let in, given a fresh cup of chamomile tea. "So what was the verdict?" Tony asked, though his face said he already knew the answer.

It was a pleasure to show off the A-1 on his paperwork. Take that!

There was no surprise, just hope and sadness mixed together. It wasn't the reaction Steve was expecting. "I told you they might take you," Tony said, his words attempting a tease that his tone didn't support.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Not if it led to a fight like those Bucky used to have with him.

Tony had never gotten into those though, stubbornly clammed up when either of them demanded support for their argument. It had looked painful. This time was no different. "I, uh, knew you were going to get in this time, so I…" Rather than use his words, he spread out a familiar set of paperwork on the table. A-1 was stamped on these, with 'Engineering Corps' written out under it.

The breath caught in Steve's throat as he stared at the papers in front of him. "Why did you…?" He trailed off, looking up into Tony's dark eyes. The other man had mentioned before that it would be smarter to be a contractor working for the army than actually in it, and with a bark of self-deprecating laughter said that it was what he would do if he had to get involved.

"That's where you're going, into the army, so that's where I'm going," Tony declared intensely, "You may not be one yet, but I'll follow my captain to hell and back."

Steve wanted to cry. If only he was going into regular service! "I don't think you can follow me where I'm going, Tony," he managed to say around the lump in his throat.

"Normally, no. But I'm Tony Stark and I can do anything. Of course I'm going to Camp Leigh with you tomorrow," Tony boasted stubbornly.

There was a moment where Steve wasn't sure he heard right. When he knew he did, he felt his heart beat and stutter at double speed. This had to be a dream, a wonderful dream that he would wake from face down on Tony's work table without the man having even noticed.

"Listen, you're the most impor- I'm not letting you get away from me that easily," Tony said, switching his sentence as soon as he realized what he was about to say, "You're stuck with me, Cap."

The words brought back a night three months ago, the night before he met Tony. "You just reminded me of something strange I saw the night before we met," Steve said, temporarily ignoring the new nickname otherwise. He'd correct it later.

"Oh?" Tony asked, eyebrow quirked.

"There was this robot fighting a man with a metal arm, accused him of trying to kill somebody he called 'Cap' and then the one with the metal arm just kinda… disappeared. And the robot was called Iron Man, of all things," Steve relayed, chuckling over the insanity of that night. It had been one of the strangest nights of his life.

When he looked up, he saw that Tony's eyes had gone blank. "That is strange, isn't it?" he mused. "Did you ever see either of them again?"

It felt like a test, just like when the doctor asked if he wanted to kill Nazis. "If I had, I'd remember it," Steve assured him with a smile.

This time when Tony looked at him, it was with fond amusement. He reached across the table with scarred and grease stained hands, and clasped them around Steve's pale, charcoal smudged ones. It felt much more intimate than it really was, those calloused fingers running over and between his own soft ones.

"Tony?" Steve prompted.

"Want to help Bucky win that bet?" Tony asked mischievously.

Steve's heart plummeted. "But he said that-" He cut himself off, chest suddenly tight as he processed the exact words his friend had said. "That's brilliant."

It was, it really was. Bucky had said it meaning that they would never get together, but his actual wording exactly described tonight- maybe. If they only managed to get it together before the night was up.

"But, are we serious about this?" Tony asked, his dark eyes baring his every emotion for once, "I know I am. I have been since… Fuck if I know." He let out an uncomfortable laugh and put a hand through his already messy hair. His hand was shaking slightly.

"Yes," Steve blurted out. It was everything he had wanted for weeks upon weeks, handed to him on a silver platter. There was no way he was letting this pass him by.

Tony blinked, went still. "Really?" he asked in a mildly interested tone, as if he was asking about the score of last night's game.

"You don't treat me like I'm made of glass," Steve explained slowly, trying to piece it together himself, "You actually see me and respect me. And I like you. A lot." He smiled bashfully across the table.

Tony's returned smile was a tender thing. "Then I'm serious too, until you have to find yourself a girl so you don't get your ass kicked back out of the army," he said. The bark of laughter he gave was joyous like never before.

It was hard to keep from laughing with him. No matter the recent improvements, the walls were still paper thin. "So we're… together?" Steve could barely dare believe it. Life never went this well for him.

"Yeah." The same sort of disbelieving look was on Tony's face. It was like he had wanted this for forever but had never hoped it would happen.

Suddenly, Steve wondered if maybe… just maybe… he had. Like he himself had since he woke up from that fever and saw Tony there. The thought made him let out a nervous, charmed giggle.

"So, how do we get the news out without getting arrested?" Tony asked cheerfully.

The thought was sobering. "Maybe in the morning chat very loudly about how we got into the army," Steve pondered, "and then… I don't know." He shrugged, feeling strangely intimidated at the thought of announcing a relationship. It wasn't like he had any experience.

"We'll figure it out," Tony assured him, apparently unworried about it.

Despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, a yawn escaped Steve. He felt his ears heat up. "Better get going, big day tomorrow," he said, running his hand through his hair self-consciously. They were supposed to ship out to Camp Leigh the next day.

For once, Tony agreed. "Yeah, sleep would be a good idea." He made a face at the idea.

It made Steve smile fondly as he took the few steps to the door. "Hey Tony?" he said quietly. The mere thought of saying this made his stomach knot up.

"Hm?" Tony eyed him curiously even as he got up from his chair. His back cracked loudly and he winced and rubbed it.

"I know you didn't want to, so thank you for signing up. It seems a lot more bearable now that I'll know somebody there," Steve told his new… boyfriend(?) honestly. No matter how excited he was by the thought of getting to serve his country, not knowing what was going to happen… The concept that he would be asked to kill other people was in itself terrifying.

Tony's smile was tender as he leaned on the wall beside the door. "Like I said before, I'd follow you anywhere," he reiterated.

The small space between them buzzed with electricity, urged Steve to do something he had actively tried not to until tonight… He decided that it was time to be brave again. It was only two small steps to put himself in Tony's personal space, close enough to smell his aftershave, and he licked his suddenly dry lips.

Slowly, Tony lowered his face even as he tilted Steve's up. Briefly he paused and Steve could feel the other man's shallow breaths on his lips.

Another surge of courage hit him and Steve closed the distance. Lightning blasted through his nervous system, sending his whole body tingly as he pressed his lips to the chapped ones that he had stared at far too often for his own safety. They felt just like he imagined, rough skin over soft flesh. When Tony moved his lips slightly, Steve tried not to smile and instead met his movement.

The kiss stayed soft and chaste, but it still took the breath from Steve's lungs like three flights of stairs. When they had to break apart, he licked his lips and tasted the cotton candy that Tony had managed to eat a whole bag of.

The older man groaned and closed his eyes. "Don't tease me like that," he complained, "I'm trying to be a gentleman here."

Steve snorted, because when had Tony ever been a gentleman?

The door was opened and he was shooed out with a manic grin and a hard, searing kiss that made his heart pound. When the door closed, Steve briefly wondered if he really wanted sleep after all.

There was a gasp from beside him, and when he looked it was Miss Rumble who lived next door to him. Her protuberant blue eyes went from him to Tony's door and back again, mouth gaping unattractively in shock.

A nervous chuckle left Steve's mouth and he tapped his heel on the floor. Then an idea struck him and a grin stretched his face. "Hello, Miss Rumble," he said politely, "Would it be possible for you to watch our apartments while we're gone? I got into the army. And this idiot followed." He jerked his head at Tony's door.

For a brief moment Miss Rumble simply stared, but shook herself and giggled. "No, not at all," she replied in a rolling Scottish burr, "Congratulations, Steve." The wrinkles around her eyes crinkled like tissue paper when she smiled.

"Thank you and goodnight," Steve said, crossing the narrow hall and opening his own door. The creak made him wince, as always, but he was able to lean on the door once it was closed and stifle his chuckles. Oh, that was perfect timing. And a genius move, if he said so himself.

When he looked, Bucky hadn't moved an inch. Which wasn't a bad thing, because it left just enough room on the bed for Steve to slide in once he changed clothes. He still had to elbow his friend in the side to get any covers.

"Night Stevie," Bucky mumbled in his sleep. He let out a snore the second after.

"Good night Bucky," Steve returned. His cheeks hurt with the force of his smile as he came to the conclusion that yes, it was a good night indeed.

The next morning, Bucky was very confused. Cash and food and- was that a bottle of beer?- got shoved into his arms when he left his studio. Every single door had something for him and by the time he reached the exit, his bag and pockets were full to bursting. Farewell gifts for his deployment, probably. The building had gotten a whole lot friendlier since the repairs started.

When he saw the blind lady, Theodosia, cackling as she was resignedly handed a bottle of wine, Bucky grinned. The sons-of-bitches actually did it.

Thank God he lost that bet.


	5. Training Montage

I want to say thank you to my reviewers, Guest and sckraut12 for your kind words of encouragement. Here's the requested chapter.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing recognizable.

 **Chapter Four: Training Montage**

" _When we love, we always strive to become better than we are. When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better too."_

― _Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist_

When Steve wanted to get into the army, he had expected things to be hard. He thought of dangerous missions and worse training, far from home. He was fully aware of the possibility of dying like so many good men already had, or being even more crippled than he already was, or seeing things that would drive him over the edge.

This was everything he had ever thought of training as being but the context was strange and foreign. Steve had been brought in on a top secret project, one of the candidates for some kind of experiment. A human experiment. Every time he thought about it, he was forcibly reminded of what he had overheard the Goldsteins whispering about one morning, horrible medical procedures being done in camps in occupied Europe.

This was his choice though, Steve reminded himself as his lungs burned and muscles ached. It was what he had hoped for when he entered that recruitment tent, if not exactly.

At least Tony was with him. Despite that he was there as an engineer rather than a candidate and didn't have to, he had done the drills and been put through his paces right alongside them. No matter what training it was, he stuck firmly beside Steve when he could very likely have outpaced them all. It made his asthma and pounding heart and curved spine almost bearable.

The first day, Tony had stood beside the doctor who let Steve in as the Colonel surveyed his possible subjects. Steve overheard him answering to the name Starosta, and wondered what that was all about even as his limits were gauged. Why was Tony using a fake name?

That evening when he was puking his guts up, he got his answer. A hot calloused hand had come out of nowhere and rubbed his back, triggering another bout of sickness.

"It's okay, short-stuff," Tony said in the same soothing tone as every time Steve was delirious with fever, "Easy does it." He didn't stop his motions until there was nothing but stomach acid coming up.

Steve made a face and wiped his lips. Vomiting was one of his least favorite things normally. After a day like this, it was the cherry of cruelty atop his sundae of despair.

"Hodge is an ass and the Colonel is a real piece of work," Tony commented, frowning at the lively mess tent across the way. Through the open tent flap, they could see Hodge and the other guys celebrating the end of the first day.

"I can handle 'em," Steve gasped. The acid coming up his throat had made it tender, and his asthma was still bothering him an hour after training finished. It was a stark reminder of those five rejections.

Stubbornness had him standing straight and taking even breaths, protesting lungs be damned. "Starosta, huh?" Steve asked. He looked expectantly at his boyfriend even as he sucked in air.

Tony simply shrugged. "They wouldn't let a Stark on active duty, too high profile and likely to be a target," he answered with an amused quirk of his lips, "They're even more afraid that Howard would light their asses up." He let out a chuckle and shook his head at the last part. He handed Steve a water canteen, which was accepted gratefully.

The small man rinsed his mouth out before taking a few slow sips. The water was painful but blessed relief on his sore throat. "You're a hypocrite," Steve accused without any real heat.

"Nah, the doc was the one to change my name," Tony denied and slung an arm over Steve's skinny shoulders, "I just went along with it. Face it, without Bucky or me you'd do something stupid and heroic and get yourself killed." He steered them away, toward the back of the camp where no one was.

Unfortunately, Steve couldn't argue that. He'd always had what Bucky called a "saving people thing" and he was proud of it. Being chosen wasn't likely, so if the need came for him to save someone else who could be…

As it was so often, Tony seemed to read his mind. "Don't sell yourself short. You were brought here for a reason," he reprimanded. Unhelpfully he added, "Besides, you might inhale some pollen and die before the selection." He seemed so proud of himself.

Steve rolled his eyes. As always, everything was a joke.

The noise had almost gone, mere echoes in the night, and Tony took advantage of them being alone. He pressed the blonde against a shed wall and kissed him.

Being in such a helpless position was oddly enough, a turn on for Steve. Who would have guessed? He happily kissed back until he was out of breath.

That was how things went over the next few days, training together by day and kissing when they were out of sight. Steve had the thought that Doctor Erskine knew something was going on between him and Tony, but instead of saying anything the old man turned away with a twinkle in his eyes.

The concept that someone else, who wasn't involved, seemed to accept them made Steve think about exactly what was happening. When he laid in bed, surrounded by the snores of the other candidates, he wondered if maybe it wasn't a sin. Maybe he and Tony weren't sick.

It would make sense, when Steve thought about it in the context of what he remembered of Jesus's teachings. He had associated with lepers, prostitutes and every other class of people who were portrayed as sinners. Why would He hate queers then?

On the other side of the coin, there was the Commandment, "Man shall not lie with man as with woman," and Steve wilted every time he thought about it. This was a struggle he had been going through for a long time, whether he was sick or a sinner, but it had never before felt so crucial. Never before had he had a reason to think so hard on it, either.

It was on the third night of pondering that Steve came to a conclusion: Tony was worth it. Whatever that made them, whatever the punishment was for loving another man, Tony Stark was worth every moment. It wasn't like he could control who he loved. All he could do was hope that the Lord would forgive him for it.

That decision made things easier. Now his only worries about sneaking off with Tony after dinner were whether he would spend their time puking instead of kissing, or whether they would get caught. The adrenaline had him giggling every time, not that Tony was much better.

The last day of training came fast, and with it their first big argument.

Steve had been pushing himself to his limits, as always, this time simply trying not to fall over dead in the middle of a jumping jack. He knew he looked pitiful. He also knew that he was now doing it wrong, but he was too tired to do it right anymore.

Beside him, Tony grimaced. His shirts were sticking to him in what looked like a very uncomfortable fashion, both soaked with sweat. How and why he was even wore two at a time, day in and day out, was a mystery.

"Grenade!"

Everyone else scattered, Hodge fastest of all.

Steve didn't have time to think about it, he followed his first instinct. He jumped on the grenade, felt it dig into his ribs as he curled around it and shouted for everyone to get away. Even as he squeezed his eyes closed, he prayed that Tony would get the hell away and-

A heavier body slammed into his and his head was tucked under a scruffy chin.

When nothing happened after a few seconds, Steve sat up. "Was that a test?" he asked no one in particular.

On the other side of the grenade, Tony glared balefully at him. "Mother of God, you are reckless, Rogers!" he hissed. The smear of dirt on his cheek resembled warpaint.

Steve blinked in confusion.

"Oh don't play innocent with me Rogers, you just threw yourself on what we thought was a goddamned grenade. Do you have no self-worth!" Tony continued in a low voice, eyes angrier than Steve had ever seen them. Where normally they were like chocolate, all he could think of now was dirt off his own grave. Which would probably be dug very soon, if Tony had anything to say about it.

"It isn't about me," Steve insisted, sitting up straighter, "I didn't want anyone else to die!"

"Exactly, you had no thought for what would happen to you. You didn't even begin to think about what I would have to say to Bucky when he asked me why you weren't replying to his letters anymore, or how I would feel because my best friend died, or even how the stupid experiment would go without you in it!" Tony's voice grew louder until he was shouting, still on his bum with the dummy grenade that had caused this in front of him.

"I did what I thought I had to. I won't apologize for that," Steve returned stubbornly.

There was a moment of silence where they glared at each other. Then Agent Carter, who had been putting them through their paces before the grenade, shouted at them to run a lap.

That day, Tony showed them all what he was capable of. No matter how Hodge or anyone else tried to keep up with Tony, he had them all beat. Every exercise he was at the head of the pack, and often times ahead of it just as Steve was alone behind them.

On the shooting range, Tony's target had to be replaced several times more than any other; the bullseye was constantly being blasted out. There were no outliers. It was obvious that he had handled a gun before, several types of guns from how familiar he was with every firearm they gave him. How did he get that experience and why? Or was it just that same anger that had pushed him since the grenade incident?

Once when he was able to look away from what he was doing, and didn't immediately look at Tony, Steve glanced at where the Doctor stood. Churning erupted in his gut when he saw the disagreement that the scientist was having with the Colonel, each gesturing wildly.

Doctor Erskine was referring to Steve.

The Colonel was pointing at Tony.

It created a fear that couldn't be stifled, and felt heavy as lead during the last hours of training. Would Tony be picked for this experiment? If he was, would he make it through? Or would he tell them to fuck off just as he had so many other people he really shouldn't have?

That night when he went to their usual spot, Steve felt ready to vomit and for once it had nothing to do with exercise. It was all nerves. What kind of chewing out should he expect? Was this some kind of last straw for Tony? Had he ruined the best thing to happen to him since Bucky became his friend?

Unexpectedly, he was pulled into the shadows and familiar lips ravaged his. The moment he realized that it was his boyfriend, Steve reciprocated enthusiastically.

But this was different from every other kiss that they had shared. There was something desperate about it this time, something harsh and hurt. Tony bit Steve's lower lip and tugged at it in a way that both turned him into an aroused mess and worried him. There wasn't much Steve could do about it even if he wanted to, a hand holding his head at a certain angle by his hair and the other clutching his hip hard enough to bruise.

The thought of being marked like that sent a thrill down Steve's spine. To be able to look under his clothes and see Tony's handprints still on him… He purred even as his mouth was plundered by a skilled tongue.

When they broke for air, they were both panting. So close that they could taste each other's breath, too close to see each other clearly, Tony rested his forehead against Steve's. "You are never doing that again," the older man demanded.

It was one of the few things Steve couldn't promise straight up. "Unless there's no other way, I won't," he said instead.

Tony cursed a blue streak. "Promise me something, Steve," he requested, "Promise me that you won't leave me alone because you were stupid." There was a desperation in his voice now that hadn't been even when he had been lost, alone and homeless.

"I promise I'll do my best not to," Steve responded dutifully. It was one of the few things he could swear.

Tony's hands eased, stroking along Steve's hair and skin rather than gripping tightly. "You won't get rid of me that quick," he joked, but the gravity in his voice said what his words didn't: I don't want to lose you.

"You're stuck with me," Steve agreed. "Now let's go back to that kissing…"

He more felt Tony's smile than saw it. "Insatiable. I like it," he commented.

They kissed, deep and sweet and passionate all at once, until they heard their names being called. Sheepishly, Steve fluffed up Tony's hair more evenly while his own was being smoothed back into place. They corrected their uniforms as they walked, perfectly groomed and innocent-looking by the time they got to HQ.

"You rang?" Tony asked, and gave the laziest salute that had ever been.

Steve elbowed his boyfriend and snapped off his own salute. Again, nerves crowded into his stomach. They were in two different divisions, what were they both being called in for?

Across the desk, the Colonel eyed them both beadily. At his shoulder, the doctor's smile was more assuring. "We have had a disagreement of who tomorrow's test subject should be," the German said mildly.

"Sir?" Steve asked. He glanced at Tony, frowning.

"You've put me forward as a candidate," Tony stated baldly. The look that he gave the Colonel was not encouraging, almost daring him to confirm.

The Colonel never seemed to be one to back down. "Yes, I have. You're my pick," he said.

Somehow, Steve had expected that. It didn't make the news any easier to hear. "Sir, may I speak plainly?" he requested.

Curiosity won out over his usual scorn; the Colonel agreed.

"I was told that this is highly experimental and when I asked, there hasn't been a single successful test subject. No one knows what will happen or even if this will work," Steve said plainly, "Tony didn't sign up for this and he's too valuable of an engineer to lose, whether this works or not." What he really wanted to say, couldn't say, was that Tony was too important for him to handle losing.

The Colonel's look was unimpressed, but he nodded. "Your objection is taken into consideration, Rogers," he said. He looked to Tony, asking without words if he had a rebuttal.

"Steve's right, I didn't sign up for that shit," the mechanic agreed with a snort, "I may seem fine, but I'm a self-centered egotistical asshole with daddy issues. Not someone that should be amplified under any circumstances. Thanks for the thought, but hell no." His face was perfectly smooth as he spoke, not a glimmer of his usual mischief or sarcasm anywhere. It was a little disconcerting.

Amplified? Where did that come from? Steve was torn between asking and hoping that the Colonel would listen to them.

The Colonel gave Tony a hard look. "Are you sure? I think you could do great things with this, Starosta," he said.

"Steve will do better things with it, sir," Tony replied instantly. The surety in his voice was heartening.

Doctor Erskine smiled wider. Obviously this that was the end of the argument. "You will need to be up with the sun in order to get to the facility in time tomorrow, Steven," he said to the blonde, before he turned to Tony. "You will leave tonight to help Howard Stark set up the machinery."

Tony's eyes were flinty as he agreed. "Am I dismissed?" he asked expectantly.

Grumbling, the Colonel waved him out.

If Doctor Erskine saw the long look that Tony and Steve gave each other, or their fingers brush together as Tony turned around, he didn't mention it. Instead, he said to Steve, "Let us get you ready for the procedure."

They left directly after Tony.

It was strange, being apart from the man who had become like another limb in the months that they had known each other. Steve felt off-balance without Tony, just like he did without Bucky. There was a strange sensation of being naked as the blonde walked beside the doctor back to the bunkhouse.

"It is a shame that Anthony cannot join us for this," Doctor Erskine commented as he pulled a bottle of vodka from… somewhere, with two glasses.

"He'd drain that bottle by himself," Steve said dryly. After the first time he, Bucky and Tony had gone to the pub together, the bartender made a habit of leaving a whole bottle out for the three of them. Mostly Tony.

"He is lucky. To be loved by as good a man as you are, is something special," Doctor Erskine said, amused but otherwise unaffected when Steve choked on his own breath. "Did you really think that I had not noticed?" He tilted his head to the side curiously, the corners of his eyes creasing with mirth.

Before he could control it, Steve's ears heated up with embarrassment. "Thanks for not saying anything," he said, barely more than a mumble.

Knowingly, Doctor Erskine nodded and held up the bottle. "From my home city of Augsburg," he proclaimed with sad pride, "Many people do not realize that the first country the Nazis invaded was our own."

The talk that followed was sobering, no matter how drunk Doctor Erskine was by the end. It was a reminder of what was out there, what Steve would go up against if this worked. A promise of what was to come.

Abruptly, Steve wondered about Bucky. What was going on around him, how he was doing, his feelings and general well-being. His best friend was already out there fighting the Nazis and maybe even the HYDRA corps that Doctor Erskine had told him about while drinking. In a few days, he wouldn't be able to get rid of Steve if he tried and the thought was enough to coax him to sleep.


	6. The Lighting of the Beacons

Thank you to the reviewers, sckraut12 and Sharkisha the 3rd, for their wishes for more. Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing recognizable.

 **Chapter Five: The Lighting of the Beacons**

" _His grief he will not forget; but it will not darken his heart, it will teach him wisdom."_

― _J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King_

The morning of June 22, 1945 dawned way too fucking early. That was what Tony thought at any rate, as he slumped into the area of the facility where they brewed the coffee. It wasn't a proper cafeteria, but it couldn't be called a coffee stand either. Maybe a pitiful excuse for a mess hall.

Whatever it was, everyone spoke in low, tense whispers or remained quiet. Even dear old Dad was hushed as he nibbled on a bagel.

Wasn't that a surprise, actually kind of getting along with his father? It had been so strange when they met, Tony so sure that they were going to get in the kind of fight that gets people expelled from important projects like these. Instead, they had civilly shaken hands and introduced themselves and that was it. Not even a second glance.

It was better this way. Tony was still bitter about it. Wasn't seventeen years long enough to be ignored by the drunkard? He had avoided Howard ever since he had that thought, and it worked out so far.

It really was too bad that the only seat left open was beside his father. Too tired to care, Tony threw himself into it and ignored when it creaked dangerously under him.

"Tony Starosta, right?" Howard asked, frighteningly bright and bushy-tailed as he surveyed his company.

All Tony could do was grunt in acknowledgement. He was still on his first cup of coffee.

"I haven't seen you around here before," Howard prompted, analyzing Tony like had never happened before- or was it that he never would? Tenses were bullshit.

"Me, a government dog?" Tony snorted, and then looked down at his fatigues and let out a hard chuckle. Yes, he was the suits' office pet now. "I'm only here for this project. Erskine brought me on board." More like he had forced the good doctor's hand. The look on the man's face when he revealed that he knew all about Project Rebirth…

The only reason that he hadn't gotten the guards called on him was because he insisted that he wanted it to succeed. Somehow, he had convinced the good doctor of it. The spying decreased considerably over the past week though, probably something to do with Steve, knowing the doctor and his soft spot for the little guy.

The doctor who had to die today.

Unexpectedly, a pang went through Tony's chest. For all that he was forced to be suspicious of those around him, Erskine didn't deserve this. It was really too bad that history demanded it.

Speaking of history's demands… The Winter Soldier hadn't shown up since their initial entry into 1943. In a way, Tony got it; the mission was difficult to accomplish with Tony right across the hall from the target and Steve in the same damn bed. Why Old Man Winter wanted to kill Bucky Barnes, his younger self, was more difficult to puzzle out.

Did it really matter why the lunatic wanted to keep himself from existing? Tony contemplated that as he slowly woke up. Wait… keep himself from existing…

Without a word to anyone, and completely ignoring his father's rare happy chattering, Tony jumped from his seat and sprinted away to where he had left his bag. That's it! He'd cracked the code! Oh, he loved times like this, when a turn of phrase solved the riddle for him.

Personnel scattered before him as he tore through the halls. Heavy machinery got dodged, and he ended up vaulting over the cart that the serum samples were stored in. Only luck kept him from running into people at the corners- Tony wasn't seeing anything beyond what was running through his mind.

The Winter Soldier, the Asset, the brainwashed killing machine, had recovered enough of his former self to be horrified at what he had been turned into and want to keep it from happening. There was still enough conditioning in place to keep him from fearing his own demise. That combination was fucking terrifying.

With the theft of a time travel device, it had created this situation.

Finding his pack, Tony ripped his leather notebook out of it. He had made a habit of putting down a line or two whenever he felt the need, usually between every other day and once a week. It was his way of keeping track of any changes he might accidentally make to the timeline, and this was the biggest one of all. He had figured out his mission.

In cramped handwriting he scribbled out:

 _Jun 22, 43- Figured it out. Winter Soldier is here to commit suicide. Plans to kill Bucky before train, maybe before Azzano. I will try to be attached to the 107th to keep that from happening. Hopefully arc reactor won't be discovered when captured. Don't want to leave Steve but have to until jailbreak._

It was longer than most other notes. The revelation was bigger. When Tony glanced through his previous entries, Steve's name popped out of almost all of them and Bucky was often mentioned. After today, that trend was probably going to reverse.

For the moment, Tony tucked his notebook away. He'd have to find a safer place for it later. For now, the climax of Project Rebirth was about to begin.

Getting back to the main room was easy. It was where all the action was, Doctor Erskine newly arrived and helping Howard corral the place into order. The noise was deafening and there was palpable excitement and fear, enough to keep a man from breathing right. Tony had seen the footage over and over, but being here was a different experience entirely.

Quickly Howard noticed him and called him over to help with some last-minute adjustments. "Need to make sure the screws are tight," the elder Stark said, and with a roguish grin tossed his son a screwdriver.

"Sure thing," Tony agreed, and set to work.

In the middle of their checking and altering, Howard testing the controls and Tony dealing with the casings, Howard asked curiously, "Why'd you run off at breakfast? I know I'm not that scary." He let out a strained laugh as he adjusted a gauge. The pressure was getting to them all.

Tony grunted as he forced a screw in tighter. "Had an idea that I had to write down," he said truthfully, if not honestly.

"What kind of idea?" Howard asked absently.

"A very, very good and stupid one," Tony replied with a smirk up at his father.

Taking it for the dismissal that it was, Howard went back to his adjustments, muttering to himself even as his eyes darted around. It was strangely like looking in the mirror, or maybe an alternate universe. The thought was sickening.

All too soon there was a hush. When Tony turned around, skinny little Steve Rogers had entered the room, shoulders visibly tense but otherwise appearing to be in complete control of himself. He looked utterly delicious in that cadet's uniform, even managed to make that silly hat look good.

When Steve's eyes landed on him, Tony grinned. "Morning, Cappie!" the older man greeted him cheerfully.

Doctor Erskine let out a whimper and clutched his head with one hand.

"Good morning Tony," Steve said, quieter and more subdued. Somehow he was keeping it together where any other man would have already made a run for it.

If it were Tony in his position, he probably would have been on the verge of having a panic attack. At least in that damn cave he'd had a plan and choices.

This left Steve completely out of control of what was going to happen to him, but no one would ever know it from the way he acted. When he was instructed to he began taking off his shirt, nervously turning his back to Agent Carter. Adorably shy.

As Steve prepared himself, the doctor slid in beside Tony. "You said that you wanted Project Rebirth to succeed," the German said quietly.

"Yeah," Tony confirmed. His eyes never left the skinny little blonde in the middle of the room.

"Were you truthful in that?" Doctor Erskine asked.

This time, Tony glanced at the doctor's earnest face. There was a desperation there that he realized he understood. This man had nothing, only his hopes and prayers that he could help make the world a better place.

"More than I've ever been," Tony answered. When he had thought about it last night, he realized that if this went down the tubes then nothing else mattered. The war would be lost to HYDRA, and the world as he knew it would be gone if Captain America didn't exist. In a moment of terrifying honesty with himself, he had admitted that he wanted this to succeed for Steve's sake more than his own. If this didn't work, Cap would die and he deserved far more than that.

Rather than press, the doctor simply nodded. The look he gave Steve was knowing, though.

Tony smirked in confirmation.

No matter that he shook his head, there was an affectionate smile on Doctor Erskine's face as he directed Tony to the panel that he wanted controlled. "These relays need to be in the overload position when the device is at seventy percent power, and this flipped at a hundred," he said, pointing at various switches on the board.

Carefully Tony memorized them. He'd be damned if this failed and Steve died because of him.

"Somebody get that kid a sandwich!" The call came from somebody on the observation level.

Tony scowled at everything in the general vicinity of the voice. That was just uncalled for, no matter that he agreed.

Tiny little Steve, vertebrae visible and ribs protruding, had turned bright red as he climbed onto the table. The look he shot Tony was more scared than ever before, or after. Thankfully the doctor distracted him for a few minutes, asking if he was comfortable and giving him an injection.

"Oh, that wasn't so bad," Steve said prematurely, when the needle was pulled out.

It was hard to keep from laughing when Doctor Erskine said with pity, "That was penicillin."

Pads filled with needles were put into place on strategic areas of Steve's body. Somehow he kept his cool, didn't even wince like he did with the antibiotics. The pod was then pulled upright and closed.

Doctor Erskine began commentating, but Tony ignored him in favor of taking a long look at his boyfriend. Searing the image of him as he is right now into his mind. This was the last time he would see the tiny little Steve that he had fallen in love with for the second time, even if it did work. Lips too plump for his face, high cheekbones, a slight jaw, stubborn chin, all of it would be ever so slightly altered to fit his new body. Blue eyes were frightened but determined and his gaunt face was calm. He was facing a large possibility of death, with dignity.

Adrenaline coursed through Ton's veins as he gave the man in the pod a reassuring smile. This would work, it had to. If it didn't, wouldn't he remember that? Or not exist?

The machine closed and Tony put his entire focus on the panel he was responsible for.

"Steven, can you hear me?" the doctor called. His concern was touching.

"It's probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?" Steve answered.

Tony let out a chuckle and shook his head. Unflappable Spangles.

"We will proceed." The words felt like a death sentence, no matter that he knew otherwise.

Everything went so slowly at first. Ten, twenty, thirty percent. Howard was throwing his entire weight behind turning the wheel in front of him, grunting with effort.

The lack of something to do just yet made Tony antsy. He put his weight on one foot, then the other, tapped a finger against the casing of the machine in an effort to control his manic energy. It was all he could do not to watch the pod light up and imagine the kind of torture that was going on in there.

"Seventy percent!" Howard called out.

Finally. With precise movements, Tony flipped every relay he was supposed to.

Then the screaming started.

"Steven! Steven!" Despite that he couldn't possibly see in there, Doctor Erskine pressed his face against the little glass viewing window anyway.

"Shut it down!" Peggy shouted, "Shut it down!"

The screaming didn't stop, instead shredded every nerve that Tony had as he stared down at the relays. Objectively, he knew it was part of the procedure. Of course there would be pain, Steve was basically on the rack and experiencing all the worst possible injuries at the exact same time even as they healed. That didn't make him feel any better.

"Kill the reactor, Mister Stark," Doctor Erskine ordered, raw fear and self-loathing in his voice, "Shut it down, kill it. Kill the reactor!"

Before anyone could make a move, Steve shouted. "No! Don't! I can do this!"

Somehow, Tony fell a little more in love with the man. Damn stubborn Steve, so determined to pull through to the end. Whatever end. A horrible, giddy laugh forced itself up Tony's throat as the power went to eighty percent.

The pod was scary silent, not a sound from Steve. The screeching of the machinery would have been too loud to hear anything but the loudest of screams. It was terrifying anyways.

"Ninety… That's one hundred percent!" Howard called out. He was gritting his teeth with the effort of keeping the wheel where it was.

Tony yelped as the panel in front of him sprayed electricity but flipped the switch. Several sparks hit his outstretched hand and he grimaced at the burn.

The lights flickered and went out, leaving a strange blue glow from the pod to dimly light the room. The color was like looking at the Tesseract again, or in the mirror in a dark bathroom, and Tony felt his stomach cramp up with the effort of repressing a shiver. How many things had the Tesseract powered or inspired or been used to create by his time?

The whirring of the machine grew more powerful, then spun down. The emergency lighting acted up. For a split second, Tony wondered if his fridge two blocks from here had survived the power surge. It was a stupid, silly thought considering the situation.

Then the pod opened and Tony got his initial glimpse of the Steve he had first gotten to know. Shiny and muscular and panting like he had pulled a Forrest Gump, he was a vision to behold. Looking at him now, it was no wonder that Tony hadn't recognized him during their first meeting in this time, and only by his voice and eyes on their second. Seeing Cap as he was now, it was like coming home.

Tony abandoned his smoking panel in favor of helping Steve out of the machine, along with Doctor Erskine. Yep, this was his Cap. It felt just like the few times he gave Steve a lift to his feet, usually after a battle.

"We did it," Steve panted.

"I think we did it," Doctor Erskine echoed with a smile.

Tony couldn't help himself. "We did it," he agreed cheesily.

"How do you feel?" Doctor Erskine asked. Pride shone from his grey eyes as he stared up at his masterpiece.

Still out of it, Steve mumbled, "Taller." He was leaning heavily on the two men, but rapidly gaining strength.

With an apologetic yet overjoyed last look at Steve, Doctor Erskine was pulled into a whirl of congratulations and handshaking. Finally, he was getting his recognition. Finally, he had succeeded.

Now only Tony was left, and he grabbed a shirt that a nurse was slinking away with. No matter that he thought she should be hailed as an American hero for wanting to keep Cap shirtless as long as possible, Steve would need some kind of cover for his run through Brooklyn.

Even as he helped Steve put the shirt on, he couldn't believe it. This was the same man that he had fallen for in 2012, but he was also the skinny little thing that had captured Tony heart and soul three months ago. It was confusing and heartening at once.

"You did it, Steve," Tony whispered gleefully, "You actually did it."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he was thrown into Steve's now-broad frame by the concussive wave of an explosion. It sent them both to the ground. Glass shredded Tony's face and arms, and he hissed with discomfort.

Explosions mean a threat, a threat means that there's no time to spare. Automatically Tony called out, "JARVIS, deploy!" After a second of waiting, it struck him like Thor's hammer that JARVIS hadn't been invented because he hadn't been born yet. This wasn't his time.

It couldn't stop him from letting out a roar and diving after the gunman.

Agent Carter was already shooting, but it wasn't enough. The man didn't slow down, even when he got hit in the shoulder.

There was no thought of his own safety, just all-consuming rage and need to take this _bastard_ down. Tony jumped over bodies huddled on the floor and dodged those against walls, gaining on the gunman. But not enough.

Gunshots echoed in rapid succession, an automatic weapon. A scream followed, and Tony rounded the corner just in time to see the old lady at the front desk go down. He let out another wordless shout and picked up the tommy gun from her slack hand as he passed.

The gunman managed to make it into a getaway vehicle, and disguised agents were shooting at each other all over the street. Tony didn't bother with them. Instead he ran out into the middle of the street and had to duck when a car exploded near him. Fucking spies.

By then the car was a block away, but that wasn't an issue. First part of manufacturing weapons is learning how to use them; Tony had always been an excellent shot. He let out a shaky breath and then pulled the trigger.

The car crashed, and Tony walked forward with the tommy gun still at his shoulder. It couldn't be over this quickly… He was sure he had only gotten the driver.

The next thing he knew, a taxi was screeching toward him. Again he took aim.

Searing pain crashed through his side, and Tony gasped and automatically hunched over. A second later he was standing up straight again, ignoring the pain, because after having his chest electrocuted for years straight any other kind of physical pain was laughable. He had a fucking job to do. He let out a burst from the gun, and swore when it only grazed the man's head.

A hand reached out and grabbed Tony by his collar. Only one person had the strength to throw him to the sidewalk from the middle of the pavement, so he wasn't surprised to see Steve running after the rogue taxi. In a hoarse voice he shouted, "I had the damn shot!"

The apology Steve yelled over his shoulder did nothing to calm him.

All Tony could do was stagger to his feet and gauge the damage, spit out some blood from where he bit his cheek. In his line of work he had been shot enough to know what was or wasn't likely to be fatal, beyond blood loss. When he looked down at his side, he let out a quiet breath of relief. It was barely more than a graze right below his ribs.

Still clutching the tommy gun, Tony walked back into the secret facility that likely was no longer secret. He needed some damn bandages.

The place was in chaos. Blood was everywhere in the main chamber and Doctor Erskine's body was being loaded up onto a stretcher by agents. Howard was ordering around all the scientists and the Colonel was roaring commands to the soldiers in an uncoordinated mess of noise.

As he and the stretcher passed each other on the stairs, Tony gave Erskine's corpse a solemn nod. His main mission was to make sure Bucky lived long enough to become the Winter Soldier. His secondary mission always had been to make sure that Steve became Captain America, the first Avenger. Doctor Erskine's death wouldn't be in vain if he could do anything about it.

That was when Howard spotted him. "Starosta, there you are! Come over here and-" he cut himself off. Tony had turned the corner of the stairs, allowing the room to see the blood rapidly staining his clothes.

"Shit," Howard swore, before almost shrieking for medical. Even as he did, he hurried over and forced Tony to sit down on the stairs. Him putting his own hand on the graze to apply pressure was strange; Tony was sure that his father hadn't touched him since he was maybe three.

It was probably blood loss, but the man from the future was beginning to feel very mushy and emotional about today. A good man was dead, his father was actually concerned about him, Steve was now the same Steve that he had first met in 2012 but not, and he was going to have to leave for Europe soon. Wasn't everything fucked up? And it was only going to get worse.

"What's so funny?" Howard asked in a way that wondered about Tony's sanity.

The reply wasn't reassuring. Between giggles that he hadn't realized he was giving until now, Tony said, "I thought I was just going to help do the impossible then head over to Italy and get shot, not the other way around!" He knew he was only laughing so that he didn't start crying or shut down completely, and from the look he got, his father knew it too.

A doctor and nurse finally arrived, first aid kit in hand. "Oh dear," said the doctor with dread, a man younger than Tony with wavy black hair that reminded him of Bruce. The thought ached.

"Just bandage me up, doc, it's only a graze," Tony told him with a flippant (flimsy) wave of one hand.

"And you would know this how?" Howard questioned. One eyebrow was raised, clearly demanding the truth.

If he were anyone else, Tony would have spilled his guts. As it was, he lived to spite this man. "I'm an asshole and people like to shoot me," he responded, deadpan.

Howard chuckled and got back to work. Now there was the view Tony was used to.

When the nurse tried yanking his shirt, up, he was pretty sure he growled at her like some kind of wild animal. If the look on her face said anything, she felt like he was.

"We need to see the injury if we're going to treat it," the doctor said mildly.

Grudgingly, Tony lifted his shirts to show the bullet graze. He was careful to keep the arc reactor, and the scars around it, hidden. Too many questions would be asked. He would probably be imprisoned as a HYDRA spy.

The treatment was quick and effective, ointment and bandages. Somehow Tony had gotten lucky enough to avoid stitches.

By the time Steve got back from chasing down the killer, Tony was knocked out. Between exhaustion and pain medication, he had simply taken his boots off and fallen into bed.

That night he woke up screaming. The all-consuming darkness of space strangled him even as he sat up in the hard bed, explosions behind his eyes while he stared at the streetlights shining in the window. Tony didn't go back to sleep that night.

* * *

The day after Project Rebirth ended, Tony was called into the war office. The Colonel sat smoking his pipe as he looked through paperwork, only glancing up when the door opened. "Have a seat, Starosta," he said gruffly.

Though his lips thinned, Tony obeyed anyway. It would be painful to stand for this.

"Your part in this mess is over, and as thanks the men at the top are allowing you to choose your battle theater. Where do you want to get shot?" the Colonel asked, adding, "again?" when he glanced at Tony's side.

No matter that he didn't want to leave Steve, Tony gave the answer that he had decided on yesterday, "I want to be stationed with the 107th," he said.

The Colonel looked up from the paperwork with an expression that demanded answers.

Tony raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

When he didn't get anything out of the other man, the Colonel muttered under his breath about stupid insane engineers and went back to his paperwork. "You're crazy for it," he said, "But they said anywhere you wanted. You're going to Italy." He put a stamp on the papers he had been scribbling on and slid them across the desk.

When Tony looked, they were his orders. He was to ship out the next day on the Queen Mary. "Thanks," he said grudgingly and got up to leave.

"I stand by what I said before, Starosta," the Colonel said, eyes intense and face hard.

"So do I." Tony left before more could be said, and didn't care that he was being what Aunt Peggy called a disrespectful sod.

Speak of the devil… She was walking down the hall toward him, unbowed and beautiful as ever. If she hadn't been (wouldn't be) like an aunt to him, he would consider being attracted to her.

It was one quick motion to stop her in her tracks. "Au- Peggy, I need a favor," Tony told her. Revulsion roiled in his stomach as he contemplated what he was about to do.

Curiosity warred with coldness in her eyes. "What kind of favor?" she questioned sharply.

"Two things. I need you to hold onto something for me, and I need you to give something to Steve," Tony answered. He began steering them in the direction of the room that he had been given use of, forcing himself not to wince on each step of the two flights of stairs.

"What exactly am I holding onto?" Peggy asked as they got to the third floor.

"A suitcase," Tony answered truthfully. He unlocked his door and swung it open, only to dig in the wardrobe.

The Iron Man suit felt heavier than it actually was when he handed its suitcase form to his aunt. If the eyes were showing, he was sure their lifeless gaze would be damning. "This contains the most advanced technology that you will ever see, even if you reach ninety five years old," he cautioned, brutally honest, "It only responds to me, but if an enemy got their hands on this, the results of them trying to duplicate it would give them a decent chance of winning even with Cap on our side." He stared down into her eyes, impressing upon her the importance of this.

"Why can't you take it, if it's so important? Why are you giving this to me?" Peggy asked, frowning.

Tony turned around to dig in the bedside table. "I got assigned over in Italy. I can't risk taking it," he said, as he found what he was looking for. This too he handed to Peggy.

She turned the envelope over in her hands but tucked it into her pocket without comment.

"If anyone asks about that, tell them that they're ammo samples. That's boring enough to not bother with, right?" Tony babbled, "Tell them something boring." He ran a hand through his hair.

Obviously amused despite the situation, Peggy smiled. "If you don't come back for this, I'm opening it," she teased. Knowing her, she was half serious.

"Good incentive for me to stay alive," Tony replied with a last glance at the familiar red and gold metal. Here and now, the suit was a dirty little secret that no one could know. He missed the days where he was able to say with full confidence, "I am Iron Man," and not have Nazis try to steal his work.

"I have to wonder, what are you doing with this kind of technology if it's so advanced and important?" Peggy asked, her mischievousness hidden again beneath a calculating curiosity.

It took a moment to find something that would be the truth but not. "I invented it," Tony answered, mind back in that damn cave even as he stood in 1943 Brooklyn, "I was in a bad situation, Peggy. Really bad. It was the only way to get out alive. A good man died in the process and I can't let that happen again, not for anything I made." He turned haunted eyes back to the woman he always called 'Aunt', willing her to understand now as she did then.

Slowly, she nodded. "I won't pretend to understand what it is, but I'll look after it for you," she promised.

"If something happens to me, give it to Steve. He won't abuse it," Tony instructed with a sad smile at his favorite creation, "One last thing?" At her tilted head, he added, "Watch out for him for me."

This time there was a fond smile on Peggy's face as she agreed. Looking into her eyes, strangely like his, she was already in love with that kid from Brooklyn. It almost made Tony feel bad for her. Almost. She'd wear his guts for garters if she ever knew it.

Their time and his requests up, they said their goodbyes and Tony watched her walk away with the Iron Man armor in hand. It was like saying goodbye to an old friend. Hell, it _was_ saying goodbye (for now) to a piece of himself.

Right as he was about to close the door and finally get out of these stifling shirts, Tony heard Steve's gentle voice down the hallway. The door was left open and both shirts remained on for the time being. Instead he set to packing his bag for tomorrow's deployment.

It had occurred to Tony that if there was anyone in this era he could trust with his secrets, it would be Steve. Good, honest Captain America wouldn't betray him. But could Tony settle the burden on him of being forced to lie to everyone around them?

For Tony, deception was second nature. If it weren't for having to hide his damn glow, this would be easy. He didn't lose a wink of sleep over it, and thanked everything science that he didn't have to lie into his boyfriend's face just yet.

For Steve, it was almost unheard of to be untruthful. He was a terrible liar and he hated being dishonest almost as much as he hated bullies. The deception he would have to play a part in would drive him crazy.

As he heard the heavy but quiet footsteps coming toward him, Tony shook his head. No matter how he wanted it, not even Steve could know. Not yet.

So when the super soldier knocked on the open door, he found Tony rolling up his spare combats and shoving them into his bag. "Hey, Tony," he said softly.

"Come on in, Cap," the man from the future said cheerfully. The door closing sent his heart into a little samba.

Before he knew it, Tony was being shoved onto the bed. He grunted when his new wound pulled, but pulled Steve closer anyway.

The super soldier adjusted his legs, straddling his partner, and proceeded to completely dominate their kiss. It was rougher than any before it, all clacking teeth and bruising force. Huh, usually Steve was more of the gentle but intense kind... The day of that stupid grenade test came to mind and suddenly it all made sense.

With a whimper Tony reached out to touch, only to have his hands pulled over his head and held there with one large hand. The strength of the body above him was painfully arousing. Without a thought he pressed his hips upward, seeking friction against what was becoming a raging hard-on.

Steve with his usual excellent (horrible) timing chose right then to break their kiss. Instead he stared down into Tony's eyes, anger and fear and something that Tony didn't dare name in those baby blues. "That was stupid and reckless Tony," he hissed even as he arched into his boyfriend's body, "You could have died." Punishingly his fingers tightened their grip, would leave bruises.

"Get used to it," Tony returned roughly, stifling a groan. God, it had been too long since he got any kind of action and now there was a super soldier in his bed. Said super soldier was an ungodly level of pissed, but that only made him hotter.

"Oh no, you're not dying that quickly," Steve threatened, leaning down to murmur the words in his ear, "I will tie you to my bed for the rest of your natural life before I let you go out after an assassin unarmed again."

Tony threw his head back and gasped. "If that's supposed to be a threat, you're doing it wrong."

The look on Steve's face turned interested and shy all at once. Instead of saying anything however, he leaned down again.

Before their lips could meet, there was a knock on the door. "Lieutenant Starosta?" called a young man's voice. It was the doctor from yesterday.

Tony fought the urge to groan with disappointment and instead made his brain resemble something other than a pile of goo.

The super soldier carefully got off the bed, obviously praying that the springs didn't squeak too loudly. They didn't and he let out a breath of relief. The bag was set down on the floor and then the door opened.

For show, Tony rolled over and let out what he knew sounded like a sleepy mumble. He took advantage of his half-lidded eyes and rubbed them as he sat up, and didn't bother with hiding his tented pants. The doc would think it was morning wood anyway. "Knocking woke me up," he mumbled, not having to fake the baleful glare he gave the man at the door.

"Good, I need to check your side," the doctor said, apparently unfazed as he set his bag on the floor and took a seat on the bed.

Tony lifted the side of his shirt with no need to be prompted. He'd gotten enough injuries in his career as a superhero to know better; medical professionals could be scary. As the gauze was unwrapped, he found himself bracing for pain. It didn't come, not like he expected.

At the door, Steve sucked in a breath as he saw the wound. Objectively, it was more than a graze but less than a full-on shot and he had probably not seen anything like it aside of the good doctor's death. It was more like the bullet had carved out some flesh on its way through the curve of Tony's side.

When the doctor began prodding at the wound, there were a few flinches but those settled when he just ran his fingers over the burned flesh. "You're well on your way to recovery," the doctor announced with a small smile, "It isn't as bad as I had thought yesterday, though I am glad that Mr. Rogers is here to keep an eye on you for today." With a nod to himself he cleaned the wound again with something that stung like fire ants.

This time, Tony drew in a long hiss through his teeth. The worst part of getting hurt was always getting it cleaned. Through all the care instructions he simply nodded, and let out the breath he was holding when it was finally wrapped.

"You'll want to get it checked every day for the first three days on the transport, then every other day for the rest of the voyage," the doctor continued, packing his supplies again, "When you get to the camp, the doctor there will decide whether to give you the all-clear." When he clicked his bag closed, he gave a friendly smile and stood up.

Tony rolled his shirts down again, and flopped over onto the bed with a groan. He hated doctors.

In a whisper that Tony obviously wasn't supposed to hear, the doctor requested of Steve, "Watch out, this one's gonna be tough. Don't let him do anything stupid before he gets on the transport."

The super soldier gave a serious nod and opened the door.

The doctor was already out of the room when Tony yelled after him, "He's the one that does stupid shit!"

There was no answer aside of the door getting closed by Steve. The look in those blue eyes was hard to decipher- was he disappointed or even more angry? Was there really a difference? "When you get over where?" he questioned in a hollow voice.

"When I get to Italy," Tony answered, hating the dejected expression slowly taking over Steve's face, "I had to choose a theater to get shipped off to, so I picked Italy. No concentration camps, no stupid kamikaze attacks, it was the best option." He didn't think he could have stood the camps; the empty eyes that he had seen in photos still gazed straight into him.

A wan smile turned up the corners of Steve's lips. "I don't know what I was thinking, but I had hoped…" he trailed off.

He didn't have to say anything more to get the message across. "Me too," Tony agreed softly.

If this was their last night together for months, they were going to make it count. Awkwardly shuffling, Tony made space on the bed and patted it in invitation. "Get over here and get comfortable," he ordered with a shadow of a grin.

"Is this really okay?" Steve asked as he gingerly laid down on the edge.

With a deadpan look, Tony tugged him closer until they were slotted together from chest to knees. For good measure, he tangled their legs together too and threw an arm over the trim waist in front of him. "Think of it this way," he offered mischievously, "The most idiotic thing I can do this way is give us both boners." The unexpected visit from the doctor had killed his almost immediately.

The concept made Steve laugh, even if it was still a little too sad.

"Let's get back to that kissing," Tony suggested with an evil little grin, tilting his head upward to make it easier.

They spent the rest of the night making out.


	7. What You Weren't Meant to Be

Thank you to those who favorited and followed! Unfortunately I can't thank the reviewers because there weren't any, but if there were I would thank them too!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

 **Chapter 6: What You Weren't Born to Be**

" _I just want one person I can rescue and I want one person who needs me. Who can't live without me. I want to be a hero, but not just one time."_

― _Chuck Palahniuk, Choke_

When Steve said, "I can't do this," he wasn't just anxious about the stage performance, or prematurely embarrassed by it. As far as he was concerned, he was telling the truth. The stage life wasn't for him and he didn't know how to deal with it.

Even worse, he was without his only two supports in the world. Bucky had been sent to war and now so had Tony, both half a world away from him. The gaps where they normally fit into him and his life were gaping and hollow.

That being said, Tony managed to still get letters to him. No matter that he was only ever in each town for maybe two weeks, just long enough to get a letter delivered and one half-way back, somehow he always knew. Everywhere from New York to Hollywood, Seattle to Miami, there was always a letter waiting for him from the front.

 _Steve had just arrived in Philly and dropped his Captain America kit backstage. The others, the dancing girls and the guy who played Adolph Hitler, were fussing and putting their belongings in place for the next night's performance. It was still weird to be the center of attention, and he was grateful to not be bothered as he hung up the costume._

" _Hey, is there a Steve Rogers here?" called an unfamiliar voice._

 _Curious, the mentioned man stood. "Here," he answered, puzzled. What could he have done already?_

 _The man, a balding older fellow with a sweat-stained waistcoat, pressed through the crowd of dancers. He shoved an envelope into Steve's hand expectantly._

 _When he looked, Steve found his own name on the front, care of the theater that they were in. There was no stamp but letters sent from the front didn't need them, did they? Tony's chicken scratch was easily identifiable even without reading the return address._

" _Thank you," Steve said to the man with a smile, and eagerly ripped open the envelope._

 _The letter read:_

July 4, 1943

I know that by the time you read this it'll be a week late, but happy birthday, Spangles! You're getting to be an old man! Damn, I wish there was a way to get mail sent faster. Instantly would be great.

Anyhow, I got cleared for active duty today. Before I was stuck guarding one of the bigwigs' tents over here instead of actually doing something useful. I'm glad that's over and done with, the guy was a total pig.

Things are chaos over here, but it's a calm sort right now. No artillery raining down on us, no shots in the dark. I know it won't last. It's a good introduction to camp life though, letting me get used to bunking with everybody else and lining up for the slop they call food.

The guys over here aren't too bad. Most of us don't want to be here and some shirk their duties wherever they can. Then there are the dumbasses who do want to be here. I can't decide which is worse. Luckily it's not a question I have to ask too often, I'm usually too busy running errands or hanging out with Dum Dum and Gabe, another soldier and one of the cooks.

I'll send my letters to the theaters you're going to be at. No idea how to get a hold of you otherwise. Hopefully they'll get to you in time and order, or I'll have to look up the dates of the damn USO shows and I'm not sure how to do that over here. Keep me posted, will you?

-Tony

 _Steve wasn't aware of the grin growing on his face until he looked up and saw it reflected in the stranger's glasses. "Just a letter from my friend out on the front," he explained with a happy hum as he carefully folded the letter and put it into the pocket of his coat._

 _Though he didn't look satisfied, the man introduced himself as the stage manager at that point. They ended up talking art for half an hour, and the man quickly forgot about the letter._

 _Later it went into a sketchbook that most of the pages had been ripped out of._

That was a few months ago. The crew had quickly gotten used to there being a letter, sometimes two, waiting for Steve at the next theater and had started sending word ahead to hold onto them for him.

It was a little trickier this time, since they were headed to Italy to perform for the troops.

Despite himself, he practically vibrated with excitement as he was squished into a truck with the rest of the performers. Truthfully he couldn't care less for the stage, or any other promotional things he did. It was the war effort he was in it for.

But this time, his main motivation was Tony. Would he be in the crowd? He could only hope so.

"What's got you so happy?" asked Andre, the man who played Hitler. For all that he looked like a weasel-faced bastard, he was actually a really nice guy.

"My friend is stationed over here. I really hope that I can see him before we have to move on," Steve said, unable to force the sunny grin off his face.

"Ah, of course it's your friend," teased Betsy, one of the few singers who had never cooed over him in the first place. For that, he had ended up hanging around her more often than not- and helping her with her hair (naturally an unmanageable tangle of curls) before shows.

Steve was grateful for the darkness of the truck. It hid his blush from the others, who would no doubt not let him forget about it.

"You should introduce us," Andre suggested amiably, "We hear about him enough that I already feel like I know him." His cheeky wink was only visible by the disappearance of one gleaming eye.

"If I see him off-stage," Steve agreed. He had hoped to get Tony all to himself for a while, but it would be interesting to see three of his four friends in the same room. Tony and Betsy would hit it off immediately.

To his distress, there was no sign of Tony all through the day that he was at the first tour stop. There were other outposts in Italy, Steve kept reminding himself, he may be at one of those.

The thought was almost wiped from his mind when he learned that there were over sixty percent casualties in the 107th. Breathless with worry for Bucky, Steve raced to the command tent.

* * *

Tony hated being a POW. There was nothing worse than knowing that the work he was doing was for the enemy, and having to do it anyway. He recognized the components he was being made to work on. They were electronics for the Valkyrie, and would lead to Steve's long sleep under the ice.

It was amazingly difficult to not sabotage them any more than he already was. Or burn this entire facility to the ground.

No, he had only been put on this job because he had been deemed clever enough to know what he was doing and stupid enough to not know what he was making. Or know any way of purposefully fucking it up. Not that the constant supervision his workstation was under would let anyone but the bravest of POW's do so.

Let it be noted, that he was one of those few.

On the other hand, Bucky had been sentenced to lugging around carts of material and occasionally riveting together the outer shell of the Valkyrie. He had it better than some. In the week that they had been here, several guys had been sent to Zola's lab. Most of them had been on body-bag duty.

Night came, time after time, and only knowing that this was the start of Steve's legacy kept Tony from blasting their way out himself. It would be easy enough, just take time he couldn't afford.

Not when he got his first glimpse of the Winter Soldier since their arrival in 1943. It was dark, about six days after they got caught by HYDRA. The captives were put into their cages for the night, Tony luckily with what would become the Howling Commandos, and locked before being mostly left on their own. Only a couple of very lazy guards were near, and probably napping on the job.

It was like the Winter Soldier melted out of the shadows, not a single indication that he had been corporeal before he stepped into the dim light. It was enough to tell Tony exactly who he was, even without the gleaming metal arm. He hadn't adapted to the time appearance-wise, still wearing the same black leather he had arrived in and shaded goggles flashing as he turned his head to look around.

When he focused on the cage his former self was in, he walked silently over.

"Back for something else, Fritz?" Dum Dum asked acerbically with a faux friendly smile.

The Winter Soldier did not dignify him with an answer. Instead he stared down Bucky, who had collapsed to the floor the moment the guards were out of range.

"What do you want?" Bucky demanded tiredly. He wiped his eyes and got to his feet, putting his most stubborn glare on.

In answer, the Winter Soldier pulled a pistol from his back harness. It was levelled right at his former self's heart. There was no sign of hesitation, just a decision as his index finger moved to cover the trigger.

It was probably one of the bravest and stupidest moves Tony had ever made to step between the past and future. "Go ahead and shoot," he invited cockily, knowing (hoping) that he wouldn't. It would probably be a pain in his ass for all his memories to change as he was dying.

"Tony, what're you doing?" Bucky hissed in his ear even as his future self cocked his head curiously.

"You are not my assignment, Anthony Stark," the Winter Soldier said in a heavy Russian accent, "Move aside." His arm was steady as he kept the gun pointed directly at Tony's throat, where Bucky's heart would have been.

"No," Tony answered decisively.

The entire cell seemed to hold their breaths.

"You want things to go the way they should even without Bucky, and this will fuck them up beyond all recognition," Tony said, daring to come closer to the bars, "This isn't the right time to try and you know it. Without Bucky, who knows what Cap will do." He gripped the bars, staring slightly up into the Winter Soldier's goggles with all the determination and derision that he could muster.

"He has you to guide him," the Winter Soldier refuted. He still lowered his gun to his side.

"He needs his best friend," Tony shot back, "And history- the future- whatever the hell is going on- needs the Winter Soldier." He'd never had the chance to argue this point before, too busy getting caught up in fighting the man in front of him. It was worth a shot.

It took a long while, several breaths, for the Winter Soldier to decide. No one ever said he was used to judgment calls.

Tony smirked when the gun was put away. "This is one for the tabloids," he snarked.

The remark was ignored. "I will be back," the Winter Soldier said in a monotone. It sounded like a promise.

"Sure, sure, Determinator." Tony snorted. The comparison was a little too close.

The Winter Soldier took another long moment where he stood. Then he said something in Russian, and disappeared back into the shadows. It was like he had never been there.

For several minutes Tony stayed where he was and kept the same hard look on his face. When he was more sure that the Winter Soldier was gone, he let out a shaky breath and turned to lean against the bars and slide down them to the floor. "That went better than I expected," he mumbled to himself.

"Better?" Jim echoed, giving him the same look as everyone else: wondering about his sanity.

"Yeah actually," Tony replied, breathless with his amazement that this actually worked, "I thought he'd see straight through my bullshit and shoot both of us." He let out a bark of laughter.

"Who the hell was that and why did he try to shoot me?" Bucky finally demanded, white faced with shock. He turned expectant grey eyes on Tony and tapped his foot impatiently.

Coming up with a truthful but not insane version of the story was difficult. It really brought it home just how crazy his life was. "I can't really tell you much here," Tony said, jerking his head toward the rest of the facility, "But I'll tell you everything I'm allowed to say when we're out of here." He was buying himself time and he knew it.

At once, Monty scoffed and Dum Dum let out a noise like an elephant sneezing.

"At least give us something," Gabe said. Just like the others, he was under the impression that this was going to be an indefinite stay in HYDRA's hospitality.

Luckily, Tony knew better. Before he opened his mouth though, a voice with an accent he recognized as being in the Brighton Beach area interrupted.

"Before he left, he said, 'You will both wish for death soon.' Those exact words," the stranger translated.

It felt like a stone dropped into Tony's stomach. More confirmation of what he had suspected, from reading the records left of 'Anthony Starosta'. For the moment, he pushed it to the back of his mind. "I don't beg," he flat-out denied.

Bucky looked even more shaken, though he was making a valiant attempt to hide it. His hands shook and the cords of his neck were tight enough to string a bow.

"Give me three weeks, maybe a day or two more," Tony said seriously, having counted down the days in his head, "I swear I'll explain what I can then. That's the best you're getting." He gave his comrades a grim smile, wordlessly telling them to take it or leave it.

"We'll hold you to that," Monty said, seemingly declaring the matter over with. Now that the threat was gone for now, and work would come early tomorrow, they slumped down to get some sleep.

Another week went by, and when nothing happened they all relaxed. Everyone but Tony, who just got more tense. He knew what was coming and he wouldn't have wished it on anyone.

He couldn't change it, either. That was the very beginnings of the Winter Soldier.

It wasn't just bullshit either, about the world needing the Winter Soldier. Sure, he affected history by cutting a bloody swathe through it, but those were some of the most important deaths to ever happen. If he didn't exist… Not even Tony could be exactly sure what would happen.

The day came, and Tony was trapped behind the bars with no option except to watch what was probably his best friend in this time (not counting Steve) get the complete shit beaten out of him. Colonel Lohmer shouted, enraged over some stupid thing or another, as he kicked Bucky in the ribs and knocked him around the face.

"Stop it! Shit, you're gonna kill him!" Tony shouted, blood boiling. Screw the timeline, this wasn't happening in front of him if he could help it.

It was enough to distract Lohmer. He laid off of Bucky, who he left wheezing in the walkway in order to get into Tony's face. "Would you rather it be you?" he sneered derisively. His beady eyes trailed over Tony's frame, slight in the first place and quickly becoming gaunt.

"I'd rather it be you," Tony replied viciously. "You'll end up worse off than he is by the time this is over."

The German was calm, too calm, as he turned away from the cage. He simply had the door opened and kicked Bucky in before closing it again. "You will wish you'd never been born," he threatened in an even voice before he marched off.

By now, the Commandos were used to Tony's unusual (insane) reactions. They barely batted an eyelash when he chuckled darkly.

They did blink in amazement at him the next day, when he responded to Frenchie's need for revenge on Bucky's behalf; he had been dragged off to Zola's lab earlier that day, unable to work. Instead of being insane like they obviously expected, he smiled coldly. "When do we start?"

It took several days to get all the information they needed. Specifically, where Lohmer's rounds in the facility took him. Pieced together from their own observations and intelligence whispered by others, they built up a plan. Two plans, actually.

There was the main plan, which they had gone over with a fine-toothed comb before pronouncing in a murmur that it would work. Then there was Tony's plan, which he hadn't let anyone else in on.

It wasn't that he didn't trust them, because he did. Honestly, he trusted these guys more than anyone short of the other Avengers. He wanted to protect them from the fallout.

The day before the Commandos' plan would have taken place, Tony switched jobs with a guy in the next cell over who operated a crane. It was lucky he had worked with them on the docks, and learned some German in the past two weeks. The combination allowed him to do what he was supposed to until the right time.

He spied Lohmer coming this way and began pushing buttons and pulling levers. Snarling at the machine, he worked the gears he needed to the max. If he was right, all it would take now was one solid jerk…

The arm went flying. It smashed into Lohmer and took out several crates and faceless goons with him before rolling to a stop at the foot of the worktables some other POW's had been stationed at. He had been careful to use just the right amount of force so that none of the other prisoners would be hit.

As would be expected, he climbed down from the crane to inspect the damage. Instead of panicking, he was calculating as he looked for Lohmer's body.

The despicable man was breathing his last, blood splattering his lips and chin when he coughed. His eyes went wide as Tony crouched beside him, tried moving away. His body was too broken for it and he went still with a moan of agony.

It was the most satisfying thing Tony had heard since, "We did it."

Lohmer muttered, "Du… du bastard." He gave a hacking cough, and a sucking wheeze that Tony was familiar with; at least one of his lungs had been punctured.

"Ich habe der gesagt, das Sie wurden am Ende schlimmer als ihn," Tony whispered, carefully speaking in German to make sure he was understood. [I told you that you'd end up worse than him.]

There was a last wheeze, and Lohmer used his dying breath to spit blood in his killer's face.

Tony stood up and didn't bother to wipe his face off. It would only be smeared everywhere if he tried.

"What is going on here?" demanded one of the other HYDRA commanders, followed by more faceless goons. The look on his face would have been hilarious any other time, puzzled and disbelieving as he surveyed the scene.

When he looked around, the other POW's had gathered and were murmuring to each other as they surveyed the carnage. Each person whose eye he caught went silent. Tony knew his face looked like something out of a madman's nightmare, and he burned with terrible satisfaction.

It must have shown in his eyes, because the HYDRA commander looked momentarily startled before he steeled himself. "Explain yourself this instant!" he ordered, pointing at Tony.

There was only one word he could come up with: "Oops."

Even then, it was a lie.


	8. Operation Anaconda

Thank you so much to **jesteringKinghood** for your review! Glad you liked it!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing recognizable.

 **Chapter 7: Operation Anaconda**

" _A man who has come to the full realization of his responsibility to men won't stick to one man. It will be foolhardy if he does that."_

― _Ogwo David Emenike_

Dum Dum knew that Tony Starosta (Anthony Stark?) or whoever he really was, was an insane son of a bitch. Never surprised, never depressed, never afraid, he faced down battle and captivity alike with a determination that bordered on inhuman. He was always looking forward, so sure that they would get out of there and ready to do anything to make it happen.

Really, the guy had barely seemed human in the first place. Something about how he seemed to know things that he couldn't have, and could give Howard Stark a run for his money in genius, and always came out of a situation in the best possible position no matter how he went into it.

Of all the people in the world to have with you in captivity, Tony was probably the best option. His luck was unparalleled, from switching from an assignment that got his replacement killed to somehow ending up in the same company as his best friend. Three weeks into their stay in HYDRA's hospitality, his luck ran out.

It had been a week since that bastard Lohmer had been killed (and oh, they had words with Tony over that) and they thought that they were safe. No one had figured out that it wasn't an accident. They kept working as slowly and mistake-laden as possible without getting sent to the lab, and nothing happened.

Then the new colonel and two lackeys showed up at the cage. "Starosta, you will come with me," he ordered, beady pale eyes narrowed at the shorter man.

"What do you want?" Tony groaned. He climbed to his feet and hissed when what sounded like his whole body cracked. He wasn't as young as the rest of them and it showed.

"Commander Schmidt wants to speak to you," the colonel replied with distaste, "He does not appreciate being kept waiting." He had a lackey open the door to the cage and yank Tony the rest of the way out.

The breath caught in Dum Dum's throat. That was a death sentence if he had ever heard one.

"Better not keep His Facelessness waiting, then," Tony said mockingly. He brushed the hands off him and took a last glance into the cage.

Dum Dum took off his hat and put it to his chest in a salute. He was going to his death with a cocky smirk. That deserved some respect.

The crazy idiot grinned at him and nodded. The way he walked away was as if the Nazi bastards were an honor guard.

When they were all out of sight, Dum Dum let out a shaky breath. First Bucky, now Tony. They were being whittled down to nothing, taken to that lab one at a time. 'And then there were none,' he thought sardonically, remembering the line from his favorite Agatha Christie novel.

"What do we do now?" asked Monty softly. His eyes were pitying as he watched the door swing closed.

"We wait, and we hope that he's right. We've got another week to go. Let's hope they don't take any more of us before then," Gabe said, voice deep and calm. He always did look on the bright side.

Dum Dum replaced his hat on his head and sat down on the hard concrete floor. One week. He could do that.

Maybe Tony would still be alive.

Hopefully he wouldn't be.

* * *

"I need the casualty list from Azzano," Steve demanded once in the tent, uncaring that it was the same Colonel from Camp Leigh (who still hated him).

Briefly he felt bad for getting Peggy in trouble, when the Colonel threatened to talk to her later.

"I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes," Steve almost begged, "B-A-R-" He was cut off.

"I know how to spell. I've signed more of these condolence letters today than I care to count," the Colonel said, "But it does sound familiar. I'm sorry." He dug in a pile of envelopes.

"Is a rescue planned?" Steve demanded. His fists clenched at his sides, fiercely worried and itching to do something.

"Yeah, it's called winning the war," the Colonel retorted.

"That's not good enough," Steve told him, tight-lipped with fury. How could he be so apathetic?

"They're thirty miles behind the lines and probably dead anyways. We'd lose more men than we'd save," the Colonel responded tightly, "But I don't expect you to understand that. You're just a goddamned chorus girl." He gave Steve a significant, searching, disappointed look.

"Now, if I read right, you have someplace to be in thirty minutes," the Colonel said with a scowl. He left without another word, clearly dismissing both Steve and Peggy.

But Steve's eyes were on a map fastened to the canvas wall of the tent. It had every position they knew of, their own and the enemy's, and he quickly found the one the Colonel was talking about. "Yes sir, I do," he muttered to himself. Quickly, he turned around and stormed out of the tent in favor of finding gear.

Through all of Peggy's protests and reasonings, Steve stayed determined. With a mental apology he stole Betsy's show helmet and the keys to a jeep even as the agent watched. It wasn't really stealing though, if he was going to return it.

"You said that I was meant for more than this," he interrupted her as he sat down in the driver's seat of the jeep, "Did you mean that?" He stared up into her brown eyes, demanded the truth.

"Every word," she declared.

"Then you have to let me go," Steve said with all the gravity he could muster. Somehow, this conversation felt like it had two meanings even if he didn't understand one of them.

The spark of mischief in her eyes caught his attention. "I can do more than that," Peggy replied.

At first Steve was stumped at what she meant, but went along with it and followed her through the camp. When it became obvious that she intended to get Howard to fly him in… It was insanity. Steve nearly kissed them both for it.

"What's got you so eager to go get killed?" Howard asked casually as he ignored his lack of permission to take off and did it anyways.

"Bucky got captured at Azzano," Steve replied in a hard voice. He was trying not to brood, but to focus on his goal. The map flashed through his mind.

Peggy took over the conversation then, keeping Howard from replying. "This is a radio transponder. Push this button and we'll come pick you up. We can meet you half-way," she instructed, handing the gadget to him.

Carefully he put it in a pocket. "Thanks," Steve said, and meant it for more than the ride and the equipment.

It seemed like she got the message, in the way she smiled. If there was a touch of sadness in her expression, they both ignored it.

"I also have this for you, from Lieutenant Starosta," Agent Carter said, pulling an envelope from her pocket, "I'm afraid it slipped my mind for quite a while." Her tone was apologetic and her lips pursed, obviously disappointed with herself.

Immediately Steve ripped it open.

 _June 22, 1943_

 _Steve,_

 _I ship out to Italy tomorrow. I hate that I have to leave you like this. If I had my choice, I'd go with you to do the stupid song and dance routine. I'd love to have seen that live, seriously. Not too often I'll get to see you prance around in a costume that would blind a Soviet and make a Nazi scream for mercy. That last part was a filthy lie._

 _Something is going to happen, something really bad. I can't explain it to you any more than to myself. Just don't wait too long on the rescue mission, will ya?_

 _See you soon, hopefully._

 _-Tony_

That was when the anti-aircraft fire began. Immediately Steve unhooked himself from the harness and strapped on a parachute, shouting for them to turn around the second he jumped. He tucked the letter into the inner pocket of his jacket and hoped to anyone listening that Tony was wrong.

"You can't give me orders!" Peggy shouted over the wind from the door Steve had shoved open.

"The hell I can't. I'm a captain," Steve retorted with a grin. He didn't allow himself to think about what he was doing when he jumped out. The wind in his face was cold and refreshing, forcing him to focus on the perfect time to pull the string.

The plane flew away, and he let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully they wouldn't get into too much trouble for helping him on his fool's errand.

* * *

Tony slumped into the chair he was offered, lounged in it like a throne. The office around him wasn't overly sumptuous like he privately expected. There were a few paintings, a banner of the HYDRA logo, and the furniture was good quality and elegant but not ostentatious. It would be easier to be irritated if he were surrounded in riches.

As it was, he was almost too tired to be pissy. There was always snark, but it wasn't quite the same. It would have to do. "You rang?" Tony asked in his best Lurch impression.

The man turned around from where he stared out a window, and Tony was reminded a surprising amount of Agent Smith from The Matrix. They even had the same hairline. There was something off about this man, however, something about the flaps of skin behind his ears. "You are Lieutenant Anthony Starosta, correct?" he asked in an educated German accent.

"Correctamundo," Tony replied with a sarcastic two-fingered salute.

Schmidt ignored it. "I was told that one of my subordinates was killed in an accident with a crane you were operating," he said conversationally, "but we know that wasn't an accident, don't we?" He held up a bottle of bourbon in offer.

No matter how Tony wanted it, he waved the alcohol off. It wouldn't do to go into this impaired. "What are you saying?" he asked bluntly.

"Not so flippant anymore, Lieutenant?" Schmidt said with a smirk. He took a sip of his bourbon and paced to stand behind his desk.

"So eager to be made fun of," Tony cooed. Really his mind was working at double speed, trying to see how they figured it out. He had covered his tracks. It wasn't like the security cameras were pointed at his work sta-

It came crashing down at the same time as Schmidt set his glass down with a clunk. He had been at a different workstation than usual, of course the cameras could see him on the crane. Every move had been analyzed over and over since the murder, he was sure.

"Only a man that knows machines would have been able to do what you did," Schmidt complimented mildly, "An intelligent man. HYDRA is in need of men of your caliber, Starosta."

Tony stared blankly for a second, trying to process what was happening. A few seconds later he grinned, shark-like, despite being shaken on the inside. "If you need someone to keep your cranes going, you should have just said so," he joked. Not that he would have done it.

Somehow, the man seemed more amused than insulted. "Tell me Starosta, what were your duties in the 107th Infantry?" he asked. The man was better informed of the US Army's movements than most.

"I shot Nazis," Tony said with a shrug. It was a partial truth. He wouldn't say that he kept the jeeps and tanks running, repaired broken weapons, formulated a rudimentary version of his gauntlets.

"A waste," Schmidt replied, shaking his head as he circled the desk in smooth, calculated movements, "You were not utilized to your full potential. They did not see what they had, what you could do. But I do." The intensity of his gaze burned. He settled casually against the edge of the desk, not three feet from his captive.

Tony's mouth was dry but he ignored it. "Sorry, I'm in a relationship right now," he said.

"You have already proved that you are an ingenious engineer. What you did should have been impossible. When my own men tried to recreate it, they could not. What else could you do if given the equipment?" Schmidt asked, eyeing the American with dark beady eyes.

"For you, nothing. Unless you want me to see how many ways I can wreck your shit and kill your people. Then let me at it," Tony replied promptly.

"You could have power, privilege, respect, here. Work alongside some of the foremost minds in the world. Do something of use with your talents," Schmidt said persuasively. If Tony hadn't already had his mind set, it would have been tempting.

"And I'd be working for an ideology of pure assholery," Tony added helpfully.

"Is that a no, I'm hearing?" asked Schmidt with false lightness. It was more threatening than a shout.

"That depends," Tony said, an idea taking form, "on what you would want me to develop for you and HYDRA. You're not sharing space with the Nazis anymore, are you?" If they were, his possible plan was never going to see the light of day. No way was he going to do anything for them, even to spy on them, if he was also working for fucking Hitler.

Schmidt's expression turned to one of distaste before shortly smoothing again. "We went our separate ways," he answered shortly.

Okay, so maybe spying was still on the table. "What do you want?" Tony asked, playing the part of the reluctant turncoat.

"We need a new weapons developer since our last was unfortunately killed," Schmidt answered, unknowingly dooming his offer. And getting rid of a mole.

"Go fuck yourself," Tony told him immediately, "That's my final answer." He crossed his arms over his chest, daring the man to try and change his mind. He had gotten out of that for good after Afghanistan. The only weapons he would ever again make were for the Avengers.

The movement of an eyebrow quirking looked unnatural. Was that even his real face? "I suppose that torture would not change your mind?" he asked. The refined calm in his voice was creepy.

"Torture is a joke," Tony challenged. When he felt his own heart get electrocuted several times each second, the arc reactor pressing into his vital organs, his ribs bend and compensate around the metal, any other kind of pain was laughable. Mental torture had never worked on him.

Schmidt proved that he was genre-savvy when he sighed. "A pity." He called for the guards to, "Take our guest to the lab. I think Doctor Zola will have a use for him." The way he looked at the American, he expected him to break right then and there.

Though he swallowed thickly, Tony stood and met the man's eyes steadily. "Certainty of death, small chance of success?" he quoted, "What are we waiting for?" He led the way out the doors, blatantly turning his back on Schmidt.

The whole way to the lab, he tried to keep his legs from shaking. No matter that he knew he would get rescued, and he knew he was a stubborn son of a bitch with a built in pacemaker, he also knew that Zola was trying to recreate the super soldier serum. And this version was at least partially successful. That was the last thing Tony needed, or wanted, to happen to him.

He didn't fight when he was shoved onto a cold metal table. He forced himself to not tense up when leather restraints were fastened around his limbs. That strength would be needed for later.

Even though he didn't believe in a god beyond Thor (and that was more of an in-joke) Tony found himself praying. _Please, please, don't discover the arc reactor. Please. Be stupid and leave my clothes on._

Then he was injected, and electrocuted, and he screamed.

* * *

Sneaking into the HYDRA base was too easy. A caravan had come by his position by the road and he jumped into the back of a covered truck as it passed. "Hey fellas," he greeted the gas masked men who stared blankly at him, "Wanna buy some war bonds?"

They didn't, and he got in his first fist fight since he got his new body. It was unreal how easily he managed to knock out his opponents, both of them. One he even threw into the canopy, and both he tossed out the back a few yards before they passed through the gates.

Ignoring the newness and strangeness for the moment, Steve sneaked out of the truck once it was parked. He avoided some sentries and knocked out others, ghosting through areas without notice and stealing a couple of what looked like glowing blue ammo cartridges until he managed to find where the captives were being held. Then he took down one of the sentries.

Several men stared up at him from the cage below, surprised. "Who are you?" asked one in amazement.

"I'm Captain America," Steve responded, using a name that they may have heard of rather than one they surely hadn't.

It didn't help, there was no flash of recognition. A man asked in an English accent, "I beg your pardon?" even as Steve stole the keys from the guard's belt.

It was quick work freeing all the captives. "I'm looking for someone. Sergeant James Barnes, has anyone heard of a James Barnes," Steve called over the quiet murmurs of the men he had just freed, "Has anyone seen him?" He was desperate as he looked for a spark of recognition in any face.

Three men stepped forward. "There's a ward that no one has come back from," said the Englishman who had spoken earlier, "He was taken there." His face was grim as he gave the information; he didn't expect for the unfortunate man to be found alive.

Steve didn't allow the thought to register. Bucky had to be alive, he just had to. "There's a clearing a few miles west of the compound, meet up there with anyone else you find and if I'm not there in an hour you get out of here," he instructed, "The lines are about thirty miles west of here. Keep going, don't stop."

"Do you know what you're doing?" asked a man with a truly luxurious mustache and a bowler hat.

"Yeah," Steve replied breathlessly, the risks and chances he was taking finally catching up to him, "I've punched out Hitler over two hundred times." He was able to catch just a glance of their disbelieving expressions before he turned tail and ran down the corridor.

He fought his way through several areas before finally happening upon a strangely still hallway. A small, toad-like man took one long glance at him and hurried in the opposite direction with a briefcase.

The oxygen felt thicker here, the silence hair raising. Each door Steve opened revealed labs and cells, some stinking so strongly of blood that he choked. The fourth door that he tried revealed something that he had never known to prepare for.

Enhanced hearing allowed him to hear Tony's voice mumble, "Anthony Stark, SHIELD, Avengers Initiative. Anthony Stark, SHIELD, Avengers Initiative. Anthony Stark, SHIELD…" Over and over, he slurred the mostly meaningless words without stop.

It was like a punch in the gut to see his Tony strapped down to an operating table, so out of it that he didn't even realize he was alone. He was fully clothed, but it was little more than rags at this point and only emphasized the situation. There was a strange bruising pattern on his face and blood leaked out of one ear.

"Tony," Steve breathed, and surged forward to rip the leather cuffs off.

It didn't seem like Tony heard him. "Anthony Stark, SHIELD, Avengers Initiative…" The emptiness in his usually sparkling brown eyes made Steve feel sick.

"Tony, come on Tony, it's me," he pleaded, and put a hand to the other man's shoulder to lightly shake him. What on earth had been done to him?

The repetition stopped, and Tony's eyes slowly moved over to look into the face of his rescuer. "Steve?" he asked weakly.

Tears nearly escaped when Steve nodded. "Yeah, it's me," he confirmed, "It's Steve."

It took some help for Tony to sit up, he was swaying too badly to do it himself, but he managed with help. "I knew you'd find me," he whispered. He let out a wheeze of a laugh and pushed himself off the table, into Steve's arms.

God, holding Tony again was heaven. For a few seconds Steve simply savored having his man back where he belonged. "We need to get out of here," he said, reluctantly breaking away, "Can you walk?" He hoped Bucky was in better condition.

"Can I walk?" Tony snorted. "Shit, I feel fine." His legs shook the whole way to the doorway but they held.

It was only a couple more seconds before Steve heard his best friend's voice repeating a similar mantra as Tony had been. "James Barnes, US Army, 2998761…" The conditions were the same too, from the straps around his limbs to the hollow look in his unfocused eyes.

"Steve, is that really you?" Bucky asked as he was helped off the table.

"I thought you were dead," Steve couldn't help saying, relief flowing through his every vein instead of blood.

"I thought you were smaller," Bucky slurred out. His eyes were sharpening, gaining clarity even as he stumbled out of the room with the two other men.

"I think you're both idiots," Tony declared as he led the way out.

"At least you're the same," Bucky chuckled even though his face screwed up directly after.

"Don't depend on that," Tony muttered just loudly enough for Steve to hear.

He obviously wasn't supposed to. It made him curious but he let Bucky question him instead of asking his own questions.

"What happened to you?" Bucky asked, taking in the changes in his once tiny friend's physique with… was that horror?

Despite the pang of hurt, Steve forced a light tone and continued to half carry his friend through the corridors. "I joined the army."

As they walked, things started exploding in the depths of the factory. Was it the prisoners destroying everything or a self-destruct mechanism? Did it even matter? The result was the same: the lower levels were impassable.

"Did it hurt?" Bucky asked, concerned even through his own pain.

"A little," Steve hedged.

Tony muttered something under his breath that not even Steve could hear. Knowing him it was some kind of smart comment.

"Is it permanent?" Bucky questioned next, beginning to stumble along under his own power.

"So far," Steve replied distractedly.

A little ahead of them, Tony snorted. "You bet your ass it's permanent," he said with a queer little laugh. It was too high pitched to be happy, too meaningful to be an off-hand comment.

They got to the bridge and found none other than Schmidt and the toad-like scientist on the other side. "Ah, Captain America. So glad you've come. I'm a big fan of your films," Schmidt said mockingly.

Steve strode ahead toward the middle of the bridge, show shield in hand. He could only hope that it, and the Serum's benefits, would be enough.

It was and wasn't. The fight that ensued was only two blows, one knocking loose the skin around one of Schmidt's eyes and the other denting Steve's shield. The little scientist pulled a lever and the bridge separated before anything more could happen.

"You are afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind us!" Schmidt declared as he peeled off- was that his face?

Even the scientist looked revolted as he watched the mask fall into the flames below.

"I do not fear that! I fear nothing!" Schmidt continued as he swept regally through the door on his side.

"Then why are you running?" Steve challenged.

There was no response.

When he turned around, Tony and Bucky were watching that door with loathing and horror and more hatred than Steve had ever seen. "We need another way across," Steve said distractedly as he tried to find one.

Finally, he located a beam on the level above them. They sprinted, a little unsteadily, up the stairs and over to it. "Go," he told Tony. The eldest of them had always had the best balance.

That was still true tonight; Tony, when steady, ran across the beam like it was flat ground and not a shaking support over a hundred yards from the ground. Once on the other side, he waved a hand for Steve and Bucky to come across.

The latter was sent ahead first. He was a little slower but still more steady than he should have been. More than he would have been just half a year ago. When the beam faltered, he jumped and caught himself on the railing instead of falling with it. With some help from Tony, he climbed over the railing onto the catwalk and leaned on it.

"There's gotta be a rope or something!" Bucky shouted. His head was swivelling every which way, trying to find another way across.

"Go! Get out of here!" Steve yelled back, gesturing for them to get moving. He hated the very idea of it, but there was no other way across. He was trapped on the wrong side of the inferno that the factory had become.

"No! Not without you!" Bucky shouted. There was something about his voice that seemed different this time, something more aware. It was like he was waking from a nightmare only to find that it was very real.

"Get your ass over here! You promised me, dammit!" Tony shouted. He was leaning over the railing, one hand out and uncaring that it must have burned.

The memory of that strange promise after a dummy grenade reared its head. The urgency of Tony's voice back then somehow made more sense- it sent a shockwave through Steve. Praying that he was right about this, he bent forward a metal bar that was in the way.

As he backed up to give himself a running start, Steve shrugged to himself. It was better to die trying than to give up and sit here.

Across the chasm, Tony nodded with all seriousness, hand still held out. He curled the fingers toward Steve in a signal to come on.

Oh, the kinds of things he did for these men… Steve jumped.

* * *

Getting back to base camp took two days. Those were two of the most awkward days that Steve had dealt with since the USO shows began. If it weren't for Bucky and Tony being there, he may have actually preferred the tour circuit.

Of course, it all started with Bucky being a stubborn jerk.

"How did this," the now smaller man gestured to the mountain of muscle walking beside him, "happen? And none of this, 'I joined the army,' bullshit." Grey eyes peered up at him with a combination of fond exasperation and wary suspicion that made something in his stomach tighten uncomfortably.

"You mean he wasn't always like this?" Gabe questioned, raising an eyebrow at Steve.

Beside Bucky, Tony snorted. "I used to carry him up the stairs sometimes after he had an asthma attack," he said dryly.

Steve felt his ears going red. He wasn't ashamed of his skinny previous self, but that wasn't the sort of thing he felt like discussing.

For a few seconds, Bucky paused in his tracks and dug in his boot. When he withdrew a battered envelope, he grinned triumphantly. "Here we go, one picture of what Steve looked like before- whatever happened- coming right up," he said, digging around.

The picture that was passed around was one of his favorites, Steve had to admit. It had been taken not long after the rent reduction, the three of them standing in Tony's shoebox apartment with bright eyes and wide smiles. Steve was in the middle, his friends' arms draped over skinny shoulders in a weird sort of group hug. It was one of his favorite memories.

"Well shit," the man in the bowler, who had been introduced as the infamous Dum Dum, said with an impressed look at Steve.

"Now I can say I've seen everything," the Englishman, Monty, agreed politely.

Tony snorted with laughter.

The rest must have been used to him, because they ignored him. "Steve?" Bucky prompted.

"It, uh, did happen after I joined the army, as a part of a top secret project I was recruited for," Steve explained stiltedly, trying to find the words for what had essentially been a blur of pain for him, "I got injected with this serum and... electrocuted? Tony would be able to explain the mechanics of it better, but I came out like this." He gestured to his now-impressive body casually.

This time, it was Tony that Bucky rounded on. "You were there? You let him do something that stupid?" he hissed.

More amused than he should have been, Tony held his hands up in the universal sign for surrender. "I couldn't have convinced him out of it," he protested.

Wasn't that the truth? Not that he had tried very hard, Steve remembered.

"I knew right in late June, just stopped in my tracks as I got the idea that you had done something stupid," Bucky grouched at his friend, "And whaddaya know, I was right."

Rolling his eyes, Steve said, "You aren't psychic, Buck."

Again, Tony snorted.

This time, Frenchie said something to him.

Surprisingly, Tony replied in rapid-fire French. When had he learned it?

"You said you'd explain in three weeks. It's been three weeks, so who was that guy?" Jim Morita asked seriously.

Tiredly, Tony scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of a hand. "Not many people remember who he is, not even him really, and some people don't believe he even exists, but those who do call him the Winter Soldier," he explained, though it made absolutely no sense to Steve. It must have been a context thing.

"As far as most of the world is concerned, he's a ghost story. Only two people that I know of have come out of a full-fledged fight with him alive." Tony's lips twisted and he took a glance at Steve. "Once he finds his target, there's no escape." The words were damning and dooming.

"And you know this how?" Dum Dum asked, curiously serious.

"You've tangled with him before," Bucky deduced.

"Once," Tony admitted, "Most of my information comes from a friend. She was covering an engineer that the Soldier had been sent after. He shot the guy straight through her." He grimaced and tapped a section of his torso, near his liver. "It's lucky she lived. She's one of the best assassins I've ever met and she's terrified of him. That was some years ago. She did her research and I… borrowed it when I needed it." He didn't seem willing to say anything more, just gave a tight smile.

The story was horrifying and fascinating at once. "Assassins?" Steve asked, torn equally between worry and wariness. He thought he had known Tony, but it was becoming obvious he had barely scratched the surface.

"I can't say too much about them," Tony said with a shrug, "Top secret stuff. I can tell you that before I moved out to Brooklyn I lived with two master assassins, a super soldier, a guy from fairyland and one with breath-taking anger management issues." He smiled nostalgically.

"And this Winter Soldier?" Steve pressed, ignoring the discomfort of hearing about this other super soldier who had been in Tony's life. That didn't matter right now.

At the mention of the man, Tony's eyes went flinty. "He's found his target."

Between them, Bucky choked and went white. "Me? Why does anybody want to kill me and not… you or Steve?" His voice was hoarse as he questioned his friend.

Steve's mind was spinning. What reason could anyone have for specifically wanting Bucky dead? He hadn't done anything worth that.

Luckily, or not, Tony had an answer. "It's a suicide mission," he responded tightly.

"Huh?"

"His programming won't let him off himself, so he's going after the best defended target he can find in a bid to get killed," Tony explained, though somehow Steve got the feeling that wasn't the whole thing, "Between me and Steve, and yourself, you're one of the hardest people to kill on this planet, including Hitler." He turned a sympathetic but somehow calculating look on their friend.

"Um, thanks?" Bucky didn't seem sure that it was a compliment, but he pulled himself up again. The knowledge that it wasn't personal seemed to be bolstering him, somehow. "How did he know your name? Your real name, I mean?" he asked suddenly, as if he had just remembered to wonder.

A fission of alarm shot through Steve. It took more than a little investigation to link Tony Stark with Anthony Starosta. Whoever this was, he had done his homework.

For several minutes it seemed like Tony wouldn't answer. The look he had was similar to when Steve pulled him off that table, but there was something darker; he had held in this torment for so much longer. "He's familiar with the concept of me, if not with me personally," he finally said in a rough voice, "They used to call me the Merchant of Death for a reason. I sold weapons and he undoubtedly got a hold of some of them, saw me at least once. It's not like I was trying to fool anybody but the recruiters into thinking that I'm someone else."

"You're actually a Stark?" Gabe asked interestedly.

The smile Tony gave him was flinty. "Yeah. Usually the engineering is enough for people to tell," he teased.

It seemed like the men around them were familiar with Tony, because they simply snorted at him. "I always thought you were crazy," Jim said fondly.

"Yeah yeah, love you too, jackass," Tony grumbled good-naturedly.

For a few minutes there were silence as they walked, leading several hundred freed POW's and a hijacked tank through the woods. If they weren't in enemy territory, it would be relaxing.

"Hey, one more thing," Gabe asked unexpectedly.

Tony tilted his head and made a noise to show he was listening.

"How did you know we'd get rescued today?" the black man asked. It was a good question, even without context.

"Oh, I'm just a little psychic," Tony answered with a wink and a grin.

Light-hearted despite the situation, Steve let out a chuckle. More questions could wait. It was enough that they were okay and together again.

* * *

That night they stopped to sleep, no matter that they were behind enemy lines and in danger. They had stolen guns and Steve and a goddamned tank and that would be enough, Tony thought with a glimmer of a smile. Steve alone would have been enough.

As it was, the moment they stopped moving they all collapsed. Against trees, on rocks, on the ground, it didn't matter. Tony himself leaned on a tree and took a deep breath. He had never been an outdoorsy kind of guy, too taken with technology, but that lab and thinking for a whole week that he wasn't going to make it to Steve's big damn heroes moment despite knowing he would… The smells of pine and dirt and oncoming rain were beautiful.

While he rested, the more grievously injured were taken off the tank, which they had been riding all night and day, probably with a few more bruises than when they started. It was better than being dead.

Watching Steve get smiled at and asked for directions and actually respected made something in Tony's throat swell up. This was Cap in his element.

"What exactly did they do to him?" Bucky asked in a low voice. He slouched against the tree beside his friend, watching with dark eyes as the mountain of muscle that used to be such a skinny, sick little guy handled soldiers like they were children. It visibly gave him whiplash to try to adjust.

"An injection and some rays. I don't know much about the science either, Erskine and Howard kept it close to the chest. Now Erskine is dead, and so is any knowledge of what really happened," Tony answered. The bullet graze was healed but he could feel the burn all over again.

"Musta hurt," Bucky said with a grimace. He rubbed his arms seemingly without thought.

They had stuck the needles in similar places on Tony. "We were about to stop. We thought he was dying in there. But he told us not to." He remembered the screams all too well; they still kept him up some nights.

"Stupid punk," Bucky grunted. It was affectionate and angry and worried at once.

"That much didn't change," Tony assured him. If anything, it only got worse.

"I hope you know I'm mad at you for letting him do something that stupid when a strong breeze could have snapped him in half," Bucky said conversationally.

It was the best thing he could have done for Cap, to let this happen. But he could understand. If Rhodey ever did anything like that, he'd straight up murder the guy. "It'll take a lot more than that now. I'm not sure he's even _able_ to die now," Tony answered, lips pursed as he remembered just what it took for him to even come close. Four bullets, a stab, being beaten unconscious and then nearly drowning, and he still woke up later that day.

"Still pissed," Bucky reminded him. He didn't sound it.

"Just get a backpack leash for him and be done with it," Tony scoffed with a flippant wave of his hand.

It was too much; they started laughing and couldn't stop. Tears were flooding down their cheeks by the time they could get themselves under control, gasping for breath. When they glanced at each other they started giggling like schoolgirls again.

During that pause, while people were sent out to find water and maybe some food, Steve came up to them. "Alright, what's the joke?" he asked warily.

"I apparently need a leash for you," Bucky choked out. He started cackling again as he took in Steve's broad frame. How would a backpack leash even work for him?

The mental image of Steve in his familiar costume with a bright pink harness strapped on under his shield came to mind, running toward screams and collapsing buildings while the Winter Soldier clung to the other end of the leash. And old man Winter would totally be shouting at him that no, he was not going to fight _another_ oversized rat because the last time he nearly got bitten in half trying to save that poodle. It was enough to make Tony collapse on the ground, chest aching around his reactor and abs seizing up because that was so ridiculous and could actually happen. If they ever got Bucky back from the mind of that crazed killing machine.

"Okay, time to break it up. There should be a stream this way, let's get you some water," Steve said, seeming highly amused as he helped Tony to his feet. The look that he gave Bucky warned him to not come.

"Not thirsty right now. I'll just stay here," Bucky immediately said. The hacking cough he gave refuted it, but he tilted his head toward the treeline anyways in invitation.

Tony followed his boyfriend happily. While his main goal was still to keep Bucky safe, he needed some time with Steve. He needed to reorient himself, get a sense of himself back, be around someone that _he_ felt safe with.

Once the noise of the camp died down and he was sure they were alone, Tony threw himself into Steve's arms. It had been too long. That same smell that he had gotten used to back in 2012, which he would normally call freedom and apple pie and the guts of goddamned Nazis, surrounded him. It was more ink and patchouli with sweat, leather and blood; the slight scent of blood never did go away entirely and in the beginning it had creeped him out.

Now it was comforting, almost as much as the broad chest against his and the strong arms that lifted him off his feet. He was backed up against the nearest tree, gently enough to not hurt his still-tender skin. That only made Tony hotter, his blood suddenly blazing with the need for another way to prove that yes, he was alive.

"I never thought I'd see you there. Like that." If it were possible, Steve sounded even more broken than before. He kissed the other man, hard and hot and then soft and slow, hands tangling in overgrown dark hair and then running down his too-thin sides.

"I knew you'd find me," Tony answered, against the lips that were barely brushing his.

Steve made a whining sort of sound that was somehow pitiful and arousing at once. The little kisses he peppered all over Tony's face were sweet. Those he put on Tony's neck were a little spicier.

Panting harshly, Tony held onto those broad shoulders, dug his fingers into the jacket to pull the other man closer. Fit Steve better between his thighs. "Steve," he gasped out when his collarbone was nipped sharply.

Steve made a questioning little noise, peered up through long golden eyelashes, but didn't stop. No, his lips kept going down, down, chin about to encounter the arc reactor…

The arc reactor. Shit.

"No! Stop!" Tony blurted out, eyes wide and hands suddenly pushing. His chest heaved, heart pounding as he realized what almost happened. He had nearly ruined everything beause he couldn't keep it in his damn pants. Shirt. Whatever.

Suddenly Steve was back to standing up straight, setting him down, taking a step away. "I didn't mean to-" he started. Blue eyes filled with worry and fear and regret roved the other man, looking for any sign of harm.

"No, don't worry. I'm jumpy right now," Tony said with a harsh sounding laugh. His hand shook as he ran it through his hair, grimacing at the grease that came away. He needed a damn shower.

Anger blazed in Steve's eyes as he took in every bruise and cut again, every spot of blood on sickly grey skin. "What did they do to you in there?" he asked in a tightly controlled voice.

Tony started. The last time he heard Steve this angry, they had been facing a sorceress whose powers were all about manipulating men through love magic. She had tried to use it on him, and Steve had barely been kept from bashing her face in. Don't hit a woman, indeed.

The gesture must have been misunderstood, because Steve squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly looked like a kicked puppy. He was still very angry, Tony knew him well enough to be able to tell, but he seemed more anxious now. "I'm not angry at you, I promise. It's them I'm angry at for what they did to you…"

Remembering what happened, the scalpels and sutures and needles, made Tony want to throw up. Maybe if he did, whatever they put in him would get out. Too bad he knew better than to hope.

Steve was hesitant to touch now, hand hovering over Tony's face. Before this he would have touched without thinking about it.

That hurt. It made Tony feel more punished than anything on the table had. He put his calloused, dirty hand onto the larger one and brought it to his face, eyes on those beautiful blue ones the whole time. "You can touch. Just not there. Not right now," Tony said with a tight smile.

It was enough for Steve. He brought his other hand up and cupped the other heek, leaned in to press their foreheads together.

As his boyfriend's warm skin touched his, Tony let out a shaky breath. His eyes stung but he blinked quickly, not allowing his eyes to water. He was safe now, dammit. Slowly he relaxed, came to enjoy the sensation of large thumbs gently swiping across his cheeks.

A shot rang out and the moment was ruined. Panicked, Tony broke away and began sprinting through the trees back to camp. He knew that the Winter Soldier was out there. Why had he left Bucky alone so long?!

Right behind him, Steve's large body crashed through the undergrowth. "That didn't sound like a HYDRA weapon," he said.

It wasn't. Tony would know the sound of a 2000's era Stark rifle anywhere. That meant the Winter Soldier was here and taking advantage of his old friends' distraction.

Another shot was fired. "Where's the Cap?" called the boy from Brighton Beach.

When they got to the camp, it was in an uproar. There were no casualties but most of the men hid behind the tank or trees, guns up and aiming at the opposite treeline, including Bucky. A line of red was streaked across his cheek.

"You're alright?" Steve asked, taking in his best friend with concern.

"Alive," Bucky said with a grimace as that stretched his cheek. He peeked around the tree again and withdrew quickly. This time Tony saw a piece of hair come flying off when a bullet hit it, barely missed all him too.

Enough was enough: Tony stormed out from behind the tree. "Oi, Old Man Winter, shut it down!" he snapped, "Not a good day for it! We're tired, we're hungry, and you're being a gigantic flaming asshole!" He knew it probably wouldn't get a reaction, but one could hope.

A gleam of metal caught his eye from a tree too far away for him to have actually seen it.

Tony glared at that spot until it vanished.

There was no parting shot, just the Winter Soldier melting away into the forest like the ghost he had been (would be) hailed as. It was enough. There wouldn't be another incident like this. It was too soon after Azzano and they would be too wary to take by surprise again.

"He's gone. You can come out," Tony announced, leaning on the tank. This was the longest day he'd had in forever.

Immediately, Steve and Bucky came out. Both looked displeased, but the latter had an air of awe lingering around him as he looked around. "He's seriously gone, just like that?" he asked.

"Just like that," Tony agreed with a grin.

"We need to get moving again. Somebody might've heard that," Steve said. He didn't like it, the frown that furrowed his face said that much, but it was the best they could do. Any noise out here meant the possibility of death.

The injured were put back on the tank, Gabe and Dum Dum went back to driving it. Steve led the way and everyone else followed. They all wanted nothing more than to get away, get to a place of at least moderate safety.

That was when everything changed, when Tony thought about it later. The impressed and amazed looks never really went away. He had scared off what had to be the most dangerous man they had ever seen this side of Schmidt and Steve, maybe even inclluding them, by yelling at him to go away. Who was he that such a person would run from him?

Truthfully, he didn't know. Yes, he was from the future as well. Yes, he was Iron Man even without his suit. And yes, he could hold his own in a fight even with some of the toughest people on the planet. But that wasn't what kept the Winter Soldier from killing him to complete the mission.

While he thought about that, he catalogued the changes that he felt in himself. Everything was too clear and sharp, the darkness not as deep as it should be. Details he would never have been able to pick out before were glaringly obvious and that rush of energy he had gotten when he was finally able to move again still powered him.

It had to be adrenaline. They couldn't possibly have done to him what they had done to Bucky. Not a chance.

Tony just ignored it all and kept walking.


	9. What Doesn't Kill You

Thank you so very much to **Hakkuro** , **jesteringKinghood** and two guests for your kind reviews! You've really inspired me to keep updating.

Please let me know of any errors or anything that can be improved. The whole thing is already written, but I may be able to tweak things in editing if they're that wrong or weird. Thanks in advance!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing under copyright.

 **Chapter 8: What Doesn't Kill You**

" _Temper us in fire, and we grow stronger. When we suffer, we survive."_

― _Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire_

At the gate to the camp they were welcomed as heroes, POW's who fought their way out of a HYDRA base first with fists then with stolen guns. The whole 107th plus the remains of other battalions that had been there were immediately surrounded, hands shaken and backs clapped.

That the Colonel didn't give Steve any disciplinary action was telling enough.

Through it all Tony and Bucky stuck close by him, which he was grateful for. Even after the show circuit, it was a little overwhelming. This was actual respect and gratitude he was getting now, and he had no idea how to handle it except with a smile and nod.

It took half an hour to extract himself from the crowd. There were a startling amount of apologies as well as cheers from the guys who had booed him offstage just a few days ago. Had it really been that short of a time?

Near the edge, Tony grinned. "How does it feel, Cap?" he asked cheerfully.

"Weird," Steve admitted. All he really wanted was peace and quiet and Tony, to figure out what had just happened and unscramble his thoughts.

"I can sleep for a damn week, let's go to bed," Tony grumbled and stumbled off to a barracks tent. He didn't seem to care one way or another that he was sleeping in someone else's bed as he flopped down on one in a dark corner.

The tent was already over capacity. Every bunk but that one was filled, sometimes with two men, as the wounded had collapsed inside to sleep off the long walk. No matter that he was wired, Steve felt about ready to join them.

Taking off boots and socks and borrowed helmet was a quick endeavor, settling onto the narrow bunk even more so. Officially Steve's excuse was that he was too tired to think straight; he hadn't slept more than two hours in as many nights. Really, he just wanted to feel Tony beside him.

Not a minute after he got comfortable, Steve heard his best friend's quiet swearing as he tried to find an available bed. "Bucky?" he whispered.

"Steve? There you are. Where can a man get some damn sleep?" Bucky hissed. He turned his head this way and that, barely visible in the dim light that seeped through the canvas walls.

Tony, who he had been sure was asleep, grumbled. Like a cat he climbed on top of Steve and settled himself there, head resting on a broad shoulder and arms around the blond in a half-embrace. Something stuck out of his chest and dug into Steve's, cooler than the rest of his body, but the discomfort was easily ignored. "You can sleep there," Tony said, pointing at where he had been laying before.

There wasn't a hint of argument from Bucky. Too tired for it, probably. Instead he just crawled in and ignored the protesting creak of bedsprings as he settled with his back to Steve's side and resting his head on an outflung arm. "Night Stevie, Tony," he mumbled.

"Night," Tony returned, and readjusted himself. Now his head laid over Steve's heart and the whatever-it-was rested comfortably in the dent under his ribcage. Their legs tangled together intimately.

"Good night," Steve returned. As subtly as he could, he pressed a kiss to the top of Tony's greasy head.

He was given a pleased purr and a quiet snore.

Beside them, Bucky snorted in his sleep and curled closer. He wrapped Steve's arm around his front, hugging the muscular appendage like a favored childhood toy.

Steve drifted off more happy than he had been since the night of the Expo. He was right where he belonged.

* * *

When he woke, it was still daytime. Tony was on top of him, but one arm had fallen over to wrap around Bucky's waist and he was straddling one of Steve's thighs. He was too comfortable to want to move, despite that the arm Bucky had claimed was numb.

It took a moment and a glance around before he saw what woke him up. It was Gabe, who was looking at them all with amusement. "Gotta get up, Colonel Phillips wants you all," he answered the unasked question.

"Thanks," Steve said with a grimace.

Gabe grinned and slipped away, leaving him to fend for himself. Traitor.

The short exchange had been enough to wake Tony. That was unusual. "Probably a debriefing," he moaned in displeasure and buried his face in Steve's chest.

"Don't even say that word right now," Bucky mumbled.

Well, it seemed that the army was good for one thing: they learned how to wake up without a fight. That could also have been captivity. Steve tried to ignore the thought.

"We gotta go report," Steve sighed, "You have to get off me." The thought of not being within touching distance of Tony or Bucky made something inside him die a little. After being so afraid for them for so long…

Bucky seemed to agree, because he simply sat up. "Oops," he mumbled when he realized that he had essentially held his friend's arm captive the whole time.

As well as he could under Tony, who still hadn't moved, Steve shrugged. "It happens," he said, waving it off.

With another displeased moan, Tony slid off of Steve and nearly sent Bucky tumbling off the bed when he barreled into him. He was shoved unceremoniously back into Steve's side.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Steve swung his legs over the other edge and forced his creaking body to sit up. Almost every joint in his body cracked.

"That has to hurt," Bucky mumbled, getting to his own feet. The same thing happened to him, and he gasped.

"Feels good," Steve replied, sighing. He grimaced down at his filthy Captain America suit and hoped that the stage producer wouldn't murder him for it. Now there was a thought he could save for later.

One quick shower and some borrowed combats later, he leaned on the door to the shack that was being used as a debriefing room. At the table were Bucky and a personnel officer, the former eating like he hadn't for a week (which may have been the case) and the latter asking questions then writing the answers.

Bucky's answers were stilted, peppered with pauses where he took a bite or drink. Steve had the suspicion that he lied about several things. Most notably when he was asked, "What kind of tests did they perform on you in the HYDRA facility?"

There was a pause, covered by him stuffing some mashed potatoes into his mouth and chewing slowly. "First it was normal medical tests. Taking measurements, blood, that sort of thing. They wrapped up and set my injuries from earlier then," he said, eyes on his plate as his lips tightened around the words, "They came back the next day and started pain tolerance tests. It was a lot of different things they did. Cut me up, hit me with sticks, popped my joints out, electrocuted me… Pretty much everything." He swallowed as he added, "They did that for a week. Or at least I think it was a week. I counted by when they brought me food."

The thought made Steve feel a little sick. He kept his composure, however, only smiling grimly when his friend glanced at him.

"The next week they did other tests. They kept me from sleeping, then when I passed out on the fourth day they decided they wanted to know how I would react to lights flashing really fast for a very long time. After I puked for the second time, they put me in a dark place. They kept me there until I started screaming, then put me on the table again. I think they were trying to decide what to do to me next when Steve got there," Bucky said in conclusion. His face was haunted as he relived the horrors, eyes empty while he spoke clinically. Like it happened to someone else.

His foot tapped on the floor. He was lying about something.

It wasn't his place to say anything, Steve thought. If there were some things Bucky didn't want to tell happened, were too horrible or humiliating, then he wouldn't force the issue.

The questioning continued for another hour, getting Bucky's side of what happened during the escape from the factory and on the journey to the camp. There was a marked absence of any mention of the fabled Winter Soldier and his near murders.

That made Steve curious, but he saved his questions for now. Maybe Agent Carter would know something. She was in intelligence, right?

When Bucky was finally released, they both let out a sigh of relief. The dark-haired man took his tray with him, eating as he walked. The smile he gave his friend was weak as he scuttled into the sunshine.

The interviewer shook his head as he sorted the stack of papers he had scribbled on. It really was a stack, at least seven pages back and front of cramped handwriting. Honestly, Steve was surprised that it wasn't more.

"That things they did to that kid…" the interviewer muttered to himself as he massaged his hand.

Steve could only agree. "Tony's up next, isn't he?" he asked.

The interviewer eyed another stack of papers. "Yes," he replied with a grimace, "Are you sure you want to stay for this, Captain? I think you know it's going to get… unpleasant." And wasn't that the understatement of the year.

Icy dread poured through him at the mere idea of leaving Tony to relive his torments alone. "Worry about him, not me," Steve denied.

The interviewer looked unconvinced, but seemed to realize that there was no dissuading Steve. "Bring him in," he instructed instead. He picked up the pen again, this time with his left hand, and positioned himself to resume taking notes.

When Steve stuck his head out the door to call for him, Tony was already leaning on the wall. "My turn already?" the dark haired man asked with a shadow of a smirk. Without an answer, he walked inside and seated himself casually on the vacant chair. He brushed his hand against Steve's comfortingly.

Steve resumed his position of leaning on the door once he closed it.

"Full name?" the interviewer asked, looking from the paperwork to Tony.

"Anthony Edward Starosta," Tony lied with an easy grin.

"Rank and division?"

"Lieutenant, engineering corps but stationed with the 107th."

"Age?"

"Forty five."

The response gave the interviewer pause as he looked Tony over.

Steve couldn't blame the guy; Tony looked a decade younger than he was even with the strain of captivity.

For now, the strangeness was ignored. The number 45 was put down in the correct slot.

"Tell me about being captured by HYDRA," the interviewer said softly.

Tony took a minute to compose his thoughts. "We were under fire from the German army when a tank and some guys showed up out of left field and vaporized them. There was nothing left by the time they were done. It happened in an instant," he described, eyes far away as he recounted the story, "We'd already sustained forty percent casualty rates. We were cold, tired, hungry, outmanned, and hilariously outgunned. So my unit surrendered, giving the rest of the division time to get away. We were walked east for the rest of the night and part of the day until we got to the factory." He proceeded to tell about the 107th being divided up so that they would be unable to plot an uprising, how at first the guys in his cage- Monty, Jim, Gabe and the rest- had all been at each other's throats.

When he finished describing the giant bomber that he had gotten a look at the plans for, he paused and licked his lips. "Bucky got the hell beaten out of him about two weeks in, he was dragged away to Zola's lab because he couldn't work around his injuries. That night we decided that the reasons we were arguing were bullshit." He grinned. "We were all allies and one of ours had been… the equivalent of killed. No one had ever come out of that lab. So we decided that revenge was more important than our differences and started making a plan."

The hairs on Steve's arms rose as he watched his man talk in such a casual tone about things he hadn't wanted even to imagine. This was Tony, his Tony, but a side of him that Steve had only seen glimpses of. When he nearly got his face pounded into the pavement by bullies and it was Tony who found him, the look on his man's face and the threat in his voice had stayed with Steve for a long time. Now he was seeing that those occasions had only been the tip of the iceberg.

"The plan that we made as a group would have worked perfectly, of course it would have, I was involved," Tony snorted with well-founded arrogance, "but I couldn't afford them getting caught so I had my own plan. I staged an accident with a crane that killed the bastard and five other HYDRA guys. It also destroyed everything between me and the other POW's. For a few days everything went back to normal. Then I got called to Schmidt's office." The fidgeting that he had been doing increased, fingers tapping on each other quickly.

This time, Steve's breath froze in his throat. How the hell had Tony lived through that?

"He had figured out that it wasn't an accident and that I was some kind of engineer. A skilled one," Tony said with a wince, "He offered me a place in HYDRA."

The interviewer choked as he stared at the man across from him. He beat on his chest with a fist under Tony's amused gaze. "And you said?" he asked delicately.

"Obviously I said no," Tony said, lips quirking upward for a few short seconds.

Steve hadn't realized that his shoulders were tense until he felt them relax.

"I considered doing it to spy on them," Tony continued thoughtfully, "But then he said it would be in weapons development and I told him to go fuck himself. I stopped making weapons years ago. Like hell I'd go back to it, spy or not." The look in his eyes as he said the last sentence convinced Steve that he damn well meant it. He'd die before he ever made another weapon.

The mystery of the shooting range all those months ago was solved. It only made Steve curious; he hadn't realized how little he really knew about Tony until the walk back here. Now he was getting another look.

The surprises didn't stop there. It was vaguely interesting, and rather irritating, that Tony lied as well about what happened in Zola's lab. According to him, he got subjected to the usual battery of tests then they gave him massive amounts of hallucinogens then put him in different environments to see what would happen. Really, the story he concocted was almost as convoluted as the truth probably was.

By the end of Tony's description of the experiments he had been subjected to, the interviewer looked a little sick. Everyone seemed grateful when the story went on to Steve showing up on his unauthorized rescue. It got progressively lighter again until Tony was making fun of them driving a goddamned tank into the middle of camp.

"You have to admit that was funny," Tony said, grinning like the cat that had caught the canary. The emptiness in his eyes was far more telling.

"It was something else to see," the interviewer agreed with his own smile. "Is there anything you'd like to add?" He looked like he didn't expect much. From how he put his pen down, and shook out his hand, he thought it was over.

"When they give Cap his own squad, I want in. Otherwise, no," Tony responded out of the blue.

The concept took Steve by surprise. He had just been grateful to not be reprimanded or put on latrine duty. Having his own team… That would be something else. Without permission, his mind went to people that he could see himself asking to join.

The interview complete, Tony was dismissed. Again his hand brushed up against Steve's but this time he also gave the blond a teasing wink. He had intentions for later.

Steve couldn't wait.

He did however stay behind, offer to help with the paperwork. Where Bucky's statement had rolled on for seven pages, Tony's took up ten. The man's hands had to hurt.

The man shook his head with a thoughtful expression. "They both lied about something. I wager it was the same thing," he said, almost to himself.

"You noticed too?" Steve asked, impressed. Both of his friends could be difficult to read at best.

The man snorted. "I'm in personnel, not UDT," he responded dryly. It was enough to get the message across. "Dismissed, Captain."

Steve saluted the man before he marched out the door, careful to close it behind him.

When he asked around, he was told that Tony and Bucky had convened on the roof of a barn. How they had gotten up there, never mind why, Steve wasn't sure he wanted to think about. When he got there he did see that their expressions were intense as they spoke in low voices, close together.

If they were any other people, Steve would feel a little jealous. As it was, he took a running jump and vaulted up to catch himself on the edge of the roof. It was a simple application of momentum to pull himself up the rest of the way.

The conversation cut off, and instead Bucky offered a hand to help him drag himself the rest of the way up. "Tony was just telling me about how you told him not to run after an assassin unarmed the day after you did exactly that," his friend cheerfully relayed, eyes promising him hell when they were alone.

Nervously, Steve chuckled. "I think the difference is that I'm not exactly a normal guy anymore," he said, eyeing his man's sprawled figure.

"Doesn't mean you're bulletproof," Bucky returned. "Does it?" He looked between the other men, asking for answers.

"Don't be stupid," Steve said affectionately. He laid down beside Tony, folding his arms under his head with a contented sigh. The sunshine felt good against his face.

"Show him your side," Tony told him with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

It took Steve a minute to figure out why. Then he remembered the angry red line across his skin that he had seen in the shower, the specks of blood and burned edges of his costume when he took it off. When he lifted his shirt and looked down, it was nothing but a rapidly fading scar.

"What the hell?" Bucky demanded, looking from the silvery tissue to his friend's face and back.

"I got shot somewhere in that HYDRA base," Steve explained, sheepish now that he realized he really should have noticed it.

This time when Bucky looked at the scar, it was with interest and… why did he look ill all of a sudden? "Stupid punk," he grunted, and threw himself back onto the roof on Steve's other side.

"Jerk," Steve returned lightly.

"Idiots," Tony put in with a grin.

They were silent for a while, basking in the quiet and privacy provided by the rooftop. The noises of training and everyday running of the camp provided a comforting back-noise. Steve was almost ready to drop off to sleep again.

"I didn't think the days were so long in November," Tony mused quietly. The sun was barely beginning to set over the treeline.

"They aren't," Bucky told him, snickering, "We slept the whole day and night and part of today away." He didn't seem to mind, from how he whistled and pointed out a cloud that looked like someone's butt.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Only you, Bucky," he said resignedly.

Then he realized that he had a question for them. "Why'd you lie in there?" he asked quietly, not wanting to somehow be overheard.

"If I said anything about the Winter Soldier I would have been laughed right the fuck out of here and into a mental ward," Tony said dryly, "I love cute nurses as much as the next guy, but I can live without the padded walls." He intertwined his fingers between Steve's, casually holding his hand.

That anyone could look up and see them made Steve's heart pound even more than Tony's worn fingers between his own. Carefully he shifted so that his leg blocked any view of their hands from below.

"Didn't want to think about half the stuff they did to me," Bucky answered in a low, expressionless voice, "I feel fine now anyways." He grimaced as he spoke, as if he didn't think it was right.

It didn't feel right to Steve either. Now that he thought about it, they had recovered amazingly quickly from how he had found them. How did they even get on this roof? It was ignored, just like the rest that was new and different. For now.

He'd get his answers, all of them. For now though, he was perfectly willing to let time go by.

They watched the sunset that day.

* * *

That was the last bit of peace that Steve experienced for a week. Probably more, but time felt like it snapped by. Before he knew it he was in London, being given his own team and assignment: wipe HYDRA off the map.

That map was impossibly wide, spanning most of Europe. There were bases that Steve saw on the map in Bucky's room that ranged from Greece to France and one for some reason all the way out in Lithuania. Then there were the ones that the SSR had found for themselves… one of which was in Greenland.

When he told Tony about that base out in the middle of nowhere, the other man didn't seem to react. Then Steve looked deeper, and saw the sad pride in his eyes.

"What is it?" the blond asked as they walked to the nearest London Underground station.

"You're going to hate Greenland soon enough, Cap," Tony replied mysteriously. When he laughed, it was sharp.

Something was even less right than before about Tony. In Brooklyn and then training he had been a contradiction and hid things, but those had never left him so… depressed and desperate. No one else seemed to see it, but Tony was more defensive and snarky than before and wouldn't give any answers as to why. All Steve knew is that it had to do with Azzano and why Tony was so skittish around him- or, everyone but Bucky and Peggy.

Only when they were being shuffled in among the throng of Londoners in an Underground station did Steve come up with the words for what he wanted to say. "Tony?" he asked hesitantly.

"Hm?" The older man tilted his head to show that he was listening. Bright, inquisitive brown eyes looked up at him from where he stood slightly in front.

"I know now isn't the right time for it, but I know you're keeping some big secrets. I'll admit that it hurts that you don't trust me. I just wanted to let you know that I won't judge you for it, whatever it is, when you do decide to tell me," Steve said in a low voice, fully aware of everyone who could overhear.

Tony smiled up at him, but just like most of those that he gave now it was sad. "Some things, I don't know if I ever can tell," he replied in a similarly low tone.

"That's okay too. As long as you tell me that this is one of those things. Just don't lie to me, okay?" Steve knew he was a little too desperate to keep the first person he'd ever loved, if he was willing to give these kind of concessions. Who knew what he could be hiding? But if he knew anything, he knew that Tony wasn't a traitor. Anything else, he could deal with.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I can do that." A weight seemed to fall off of Tony's shoulders as the train came, and they were pulled in along with the flood of people. He actually giggled when he was jammed between Steve and a wall, giving the filthiest grin that the blond had ever seen even as he pulled his body back.

It suddenly hit Steve that this was exactly what he wanted his life to look like. He wanted to be able to hold Tony in broad daylight, take his hand in a crowd, kiss him whenever he felt the urge. Not just make the excuse that they were on a crowded train or there wasn't anywhere else to sleep or they must have seen it wrong. That's no way to live. His throat hurt from bottling up the urge to shout at the top of his lungs that dammit, he loved this man.

Wait… he may not be able to shout it, but he could whisper.

From the look on his face, Tony knew something was going to happen. His raised eyebrow, teasing half-grin, said it all. Like this, the lines starting at the corners of his eyes and lips disappeared.

Heart pounding, Steve leaned down. His lips brushed the shell of Tony's ear as he spoke, and he smiled as he did; the hairs on the back of the other man's neck had risen.

"I love you."

When there was no response, Steve felt his heart stutter. Was it too early? Did Tony not feel the same way? Was this a worse time than usual? He was afraid to look his man in the face and see pity or anger.

The train turned, and momentum threw Tony into him. Chapped lips found his neck, and a breathed, "You too," made him feel a little dizzy.

As their stop had been reached, there was no time to say anything more.

From the wary, inquiring looks he got, Steve knew he was grinning like a madman. That didn't bother him in the least. It was taking everything he had not to start laughing from sheer elation.

When he looked to his side, Tony was smiling too. For once, he was happy and free of the shadows he'd always carried.

Their eyes met, and Steve couldn't help chuckling. Now hopefully getting the team together would go this well…

Surprisingly, it did. After a brief moment where he was sure he screwed up, every single one of the men he picked agreed to this insane proposal. If anything, they seemed eager to get back out there. Either they wanted revenge or they were just plain crazy, but either way he wasn't complaining. That would be hypocrisy at its finest.

"Where are they putting all this stuff?" the bartender questioned, though he didn't seem to want an answer, as he just shook his head and refilled the beer. No matter that Steve knew he had never seen the man before, he looked strangely familiar.

The mugs were set in front of him, and he put the thought out of his mind. It wasn't relevant right now. The men accepted their beer with a cheer, and continued their short trip to drunkenness. Steve had the feeling that he was the only sober one here.

Or maybe one of three sober ones. At the bar, Bucky and Tony waited for him with glasses of whiskey in hand. When he approached he saw that they were talking in whispers again, heads close together as they tried to keep from being overheard. The moment they noticed his approach their conversation ground to a halt and Tony gave him a strained smile.

"I told you they were idiots," Bucky said with a shaky chuckle as he stared down at his glass.

"How about you two? Are you ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?" Steve mocked himself even as he seriously posed the question. These were the two men he wanted beside him for this, more than anything.

Bucky took a few seconds more to look at his drink, then turned his eyes back up to his blond friend. "Hell no, I'm following that little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight," he answered.

Steve flushed with happiness. That was just what he needed to hear. It wasn't Captain America that was wanted there, just him. He looked to Bucky's other side hopefully, waiting for the other man's answer.

If he didn't know better, he would think Tony was about to have a heart attack. "Me?" he asked in a strangely high pitched voice, "You're asking _me_ to join the legendary Howling Commandos?" His eyes were so wide that they must have hurt, mouth hanging slightly open, before he composed himself.

That was an interesting name… "We may not be legendary, but yeah. Want to help us take down HYDRA?" Steve asked again.

"Not legendary _yet_ , maybe," Tony said with a gleeful grin, "Sign me the fuck up." He drained his glass in one with a laugh.

Steve shook his head and ordered himself a beer. These men would be the death of him.

"You're keeping the outfit though, right?" Even as Bucky asked, Tony leered at him.

When Steve looked over the shoulder at the poster for his tour, he grinned at the notice posted on it: 'Tour Cancelled'. He was truthful when he said, "You know, it's kinda growing on me."

Not quite a minute later Agent Carter showed up, a vision in red. It was too bad that she only had eyes for him; Bucky was trying his hardest but couldn't get an ounce of her attention. A quick glance, but that was it.

However, when she saw Tony, she smiled. "You have good timing, Lieutenant Starosta, I was about to open that suitcase of yours if you didn't reappear soon."

Steve raised an eyebrow. Last he saw, Tony didn't even own a suitcase beyond his army duffel, and he had that with him.

"Perfect, then," Tony agreed happily, "I need you to keep it for me a while longer though. I need it at the right time and not a minute before." His tone was longing as he added, "It isn't the right time yet."

Agent Carter only nodded and gave Steve a time to be at HQ before she left. The catcalls and wolf whistles that followed her were ignored. The door closed behind her and the world suddenly went back to normal.

"Poor girl," Bucky said, glancing from Steve to Tony and back with obvious merriment as he went back to his glass, "Damn I'm glad I lost that bet." He choked on his whiskey when Steve said,

"Actually, you won."

Tony grinned and beat his friend's back. He'd been looking forward to this since he and Steve actually got together. "You did say it would happen the day Steve got into the army," he reminded the other man cheerfully.

The moment he stopped choking, Bucky started laughing. "And here I thought the building had just gotten friendlier!" he hooted.

"Well, it has," Tony said, going back to his own drink, "Just not quite _that_ friendly. We got some gifts going away, but nothing like that." He was amazed at the sheer amount of alcohol that was being betted on him, not even thinking about the cash or household favors. Even better for Bucky to have gotten it.

"Wait, that explains it! You," he pointed to Steve, "got into the army the night of the Expo and you two…" He grinned, gestured between the other men, and added, "And it was the same week that the blind lady had bet on! So it got split between us!" He looked so proud of himself for figuring it out, like he'd just tied his own shoes for the first time.

"Congratulations Sherlock, you just used basic deductive skills," Tony said dryly.

It did nothing to dampen Bucky's spirits. "Bartender!" he called.

The skinny kid with the big blue eyes looked up from the beer he was filling.

"Get these two a drink, we're celebrating!" Bucky ordered, grinning widely.

Steve's eyes widened in panic. "Uh, Buck?" he asked weakly.

"Celebrating?" the bartender asked curiously. His smile was easy-going as he slid the glass toward the patron it was intended for.

"Bucky?" Steve said again, a little higher pitched. He was ignored.

"Two of my friends from back home got together and won me a bet!" Bucky explained happily.

There wasn't a single sign of suspicion, or judgment as the bartender gave a friendly smile and began filling drinks. "Congratulations. What are their names?" he asked conversationally.

"Tony and Stephanie," Bucky half-lied, "They've been making eyes at each other since they met, seriously." Over his shoulder, he shot his friends a wicked smirk.

Steve snorted, and scowled half-heartedly when Tony laughed hysterically. He was not a girl! No matter how he used to look!

The drinks were passed around, and the bartender went to tend to the other customers with a final congratulation.

The drink in his hand was cool and smelled like some of the good scotch. Steve raised his glass in a mockery of a toast and took a sip. Yep, it was the good stuff.

It was really too bad he probably couldn't get a buzz.

They did their best to get drunk, but it seemed Steve wasn't the only one who had a hard time with it. Their usual bottle of whiskey turned into four, and they were all still able to leave under their own power. Bucky and Tony stumbled out holding each other up, cackling in a way that made Steve wonder if they should be unleashed on London.

Somehow, maybe because they were in uniform and maybe because Steve was still horribly sober, they managed to make it back to base with no harm done. Well, those hooligans would probably be scarred for life after seeing them all get into a playful wrestling match in an alley; by the time they settled down there were dents in the dumpsters and some crumbling bricks. It was very lucky that the sentries found Tony and Bucky's drunkenness funny and didn't report them.

With some help and more than a little patience, Steve managed to get them into his newly assigned room to sleep it off. This would probably be a recurring thing, he realized with chagrin.

Bucky had tipped face-first onto the bed and was giggling alarmingly.

The second the door closed behind them, Tony shook his head and appeared to sober up instantly. It was all in how his eyes became more alert, his posture straighter, as he quirked an eyebrow at his friend. "Think he's planning world domination?" he asked with a grin.

"Knowing Bucky, probably," Steve admitted. When they were younger they plotted how they were going to take over the world. It wouldn't surprise him one bit if they woke up to find a flag of Bucky's face flying over Buckingham Palace.

"A world run by Bucky? I could dig that," Tony said with a queer laugh. He seemed half-serious.

"Here, I'll grab another blanket and you guys can have the bed," Steve said, changing the subject before the conversation could devolve any further. Yep, he was definitely the only one here truly sober.

Before he could, a hand grabbed his hand with surprising firmness. Tony's face was grave now, eyes never wavering from Steve's as he spoke. "It's your bed, you're sleeping with us," he ordered. His voice didn't waver or slur at all, just like they had never been to that pub.

The skin where they touched tingled.

It must have shown on his face, because Tony shuffled closer until they were pressed together from chest to hips. "I hate talking about feelings, but I know it's important to you so I'll do it for once, you lucky bastard," Tony said, a shadow of a smile on his face, "I meant what I said earlier. I've meant it for longer than I care to admit."

The confession made Steve feel like his heart was too big for his now massive chest. He had never thought he would be this lucky.

"I meant it for when you were feverish, when you jumped on that goddamn grenade, and when you made your big damn hero entrance. I always did," Tony continued, and there was a gravity in his eyes that meant more than he was saying. "But you remember how I said I was a little psychic, right?"

Steve frowned at the sudden change in subject. "Yes," he confirmed.

"I know for a fact, and I can't tell you how, that you're going to be the last one standing of the three of us," Tony said.

A lump suddenly jumped into Steve's face. Like he promised earlier that day, he didn't ask how it was known.

"When that happens, don't give up," Tony said, eyes darting down and away toward the bed where Bucky hummed contentedly, "Live. For both of us. You know we'd kill you if you didn't." He paused for a moment before he laughed. "Shit, if I wasn't drunk I wouldn't be saying this. Time for bed!" He went to pull away, but Steve caught his shoulders.

Instead of saying anything, because how could he, Steve pulled his man closer and held him. If Tony was right, and his track record so far was impeccable, he didn't want to waste a single minute. Not if they didn't have much time left.

Tony seemed to get it, because he shut up and let himself be held. He even put his arms up around Steve's waist and stroked his lower back with slow, soothing motions.

"Go be all sappy elsewhere," Bucky grumbled, throwing them the stink-eye.

"Thanks for stepping on our moment," Tony shot back. Despite his ire, he shot a wink upward at the blond and loosened his tie.

They all stripped down to undershirts and shorts to roll into bed, just like they did after they escaped that HYDRA base. Also just like then, Tony laid on top of Steve and Bucky captured one of his arms for use as a pillow.

This time however, Steve couldn't sleep for a long while. Even as Tony purred near his ear and Bucky snored at the wall, his mind was processing that they might be gone soon. When he tried to imagine life without them, everything in him rebelled. Life without the only two people left who knew and loved him before he became Captain America was unthinkable.

It just meant that he would have to be extra-vigilant, Steve determined. He'd make sure Tony's prediction didn't come true, not even if it killed him. Unconsciously he pulled both of them closer.

They curled further into him.

The feeling of rightness came back, and Steve dropped a kiss on top of Tony's wild hair.

Sleep didn't come for him for several hours.


	10. Makes You Stronger

Thank you to **Hakkuro** and a guest reviewer for your kind words! They are very much appreciated.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing under copyright.

 **Chapter 9: Makes You Stronger**

" _We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided."_

― _J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

Aside of receiving a chewing out from Betsy (over the post, thankfully) and congratulations from Andre, Steve didn't have much contact with those unassociated with the SSR. Oh, and the bartender from that pub. He'd started just bringing out bottles of whatever the trio requested and letting them have at it, all the while eyeing them with a sort of disgusted awe.

That didn't stop that secretary from kissing him while he was waiting for Howard to have time to see him. Honestly, it felt… wrong. When he walked away after Agent Carter rescued him, he wiped his lips off on his sleeve with a scowl.

For some reason that softened her ire at him when she saw. It didn't stop her from shooting at him after he asked her opinion on his shield. He'd never make that mistake again.

When Tony heard about the incident, he laughed hysterically. "Wait, wait, wait, the blonde secretary?" he asked, eyes sparkling with mirth. When Steve nodded, he only hooted.

"Some dame kisses your boyfriend and you're laughing about it?" Bucky asked, obviously wondering about his friend's sanity.

Steve was seriously contemplating having a doctor examine Tony. Something had to be cracked in his head.

Several long minutes later, Tony wiped tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. "It's one of those things I can't explain," he said, mostly to Steve.

Even as Steve nodded and shut his mouth, Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "Whatever you say, metal man," the dark haired man said with a gesture of surrender, and quickly vacated the scene.

Things only picked up from there. The uniform was made, the shield painted, and the team outfitted with whatever they needed for their missions. Each man was given his choice in what to wear, leaving Monty and Dum Dum to sigh in relief as they adjusted their hats.

The one request that Steve made was for there to be no rank insignias. Within this team they were all equals. Somehow they all ended up with a white wing stitched onto the left shoulder of their shirts and coats anyways.

Planning took most of the days for Steve, leaving him to wonder exactly what Tony and Bucky got up to in their free time. Knowing Tony, he was probably working on some engineering project or another in Howard's lab while snapping at him condescendingly. He couldn't understand why they didn't get along and stayed out of the way. Undoubtedly Bucky was out looking at (flirting with) pretty English women. He'd probably need to be rescued from them by the end of the week.

Then D-day came and they were shipped out.

The first mission with the new team was a resounding success. Steve was surprised at how well they worked together, but when he thought about it later he realized that he shouldn't have been. After all, they had known each other for at least a month under the harshest imaginable conditions.

What he remained surprised about was them actually following his orders. Without even a peep of protest his commands were followed through, including those that sounded insane. Not even Tony argued.

Not that there was time to. The world was on fire and they were needed everywhere at once to douse the flames.

Their first mission was the base in Greenland. As Tony put it, "We may as well get this clusterfuck done and over with." Just like the man predicted, Steve hated the place. It reminded him too much of books he had read about ill-fated arctic expeditions and what could very easily happen to his team if anything went wrong.

Luckily, nothing went spectacularly wrong. Not that he saw, at any rate.

* * *

Tony hissed as he looked at his shoulder. The bullet would have to be removed, and he didn't trust himself to do it without a mirror. That left him to ask for help.

Normally he would go to Steve, but the man was out cold. He had headed the attack on the base and just watching him made Tony feel tired. The man deserved some damn sleep while he had the chance.

They had gotten to an Allied weather station and were all crammed into two rooms for the night: Tony, Steve, Bucky and Monty in one, and the rest in the other. The guys who put them up were bemused by their presence but accepted them without question, just a casual comment about how Greenland was suddenly a battlefield. They apparently weren't the first team to get dragged up this way.

There was a knock on the door of the broom closet that Tony had sneaked away to. "You okay in there, man?" Gabe asked, voice muffled.

At first Tony thought of saying that he was. Then he struck an idea that made him die a little on the inside. "Can you get Bucky for me?" he requested.

"Sure thing." Gabe's boots tapped the floor rhythmically as he left.

Most of Tony's brain was screaming at him because _what the fuck was he thinking?!_ The cold, calculating part that was constantly cataloguing changes to the past realized that this was how it was supposed to be. Of course, Bucky would know about the arc reactor. The fileshe had read clearly indicated that.

Tony took a deep breath and focused on his heartbeat. When that didn't help, he brutally forced down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. This was the price he paid for knowing too much when he tackled the Winter Soldier all those months ago.

"You're not naked, are you?" Bucky's teasing voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Not until you get in here, sweetcheeks," Tony flirted. His bark of laughter was short and stopped abruptly when the motion jarred his shoulder.

"Then what am I waiting for?" Bucky opened the door and stepped into the cramped space with a smile that faded into a look of concern. "Shit, Tony, what the hell happened to you?" He closed the door hurriedly and leaned on it to get some space.

Tony knew he looked horrible. It was one of those side effects of getting shot then hiking several hours like that. The only reason he hadn't bled out was that the wound froze. "I got shot," he said dryly.

"You should have told us," Bucky reprimanded with wide eyes as he inspected the wound as best he could by the bare bulb hanging above them, "You need to take off your shirt, I'll get stuff to sew you up." He had done it a few times before Azzano, just never a spot that needed Tony's shirt removed.

"No need." Tony shoved the first aid kit he had nicked into his friend's hands. Nervous butterflies started in his stomach as he fidgeted with his outer shirt.

Bucky began preparing tweezers and smirked at his friend. "Getting shy all of a sudden?" he asked.

A snort answered him. "No, just, uh, there's something I need to tell you about," Tony said, not quite sure how to say what he needed to. Well, lie like he needed to. "Just… don't freak out."

In the confines of the closet, Bucky's huff sounded like a laugh. "I ain't gonna throw a fit 'cause I see one of my best friends shirtless, Tony," he said as he finished sterilizing the tweezers.

Here went nothing. It took longer to open his shirt than usual, fingers fumbling on the buttons. The arc reactor shone dimly through the sweat-stained white shirt he wore under it.

Though he was frowning, Bucky thankfully didn't say anything. Just capped the rubbing alcohol.

Taking off the undershirt was like taking off a band-aid. Tony took a shaky breath as he placed both of his shirts on a shelf behind him, baring his terrible privilege to someone for the first time in the 1940's. The arc reactor shone like a beacon, as bright as the light bulb above them.

The light gave Bucky's suddenly white face a blue tint. "What the hell is that?" he demanded even as he wielded the tweezers expertly.

"An experimental power source," Tony gritted out, not quite lying, "It got put in a few years ago. Been a big help." He was reduced to hisses and gasps as the bullet was removed from his shoulder.

"What would you need a battery in your chest for?" Bucky asked, disbelief ringing through every syllable. "By the way, you're lucky, the bullet is still in one piece. But that's you." The ping as he set the bullet down on a shelf was a relief.

Tony shuddered at the memory of waking up with an actual battery attached to his chest, back in that damn cave. "Don't even joke about that," he snapped roughly.

"Okay, okay. Sensitive subject, got it," Bucky grumbled as he sterilized a needle and some thread. He seemed to be taking it well, using the light from the arc reactor to thread the needle.

"You can't tell anyone about this," Tony said forcefully, willing his friend to believe him, "If the wrong people find out, I'll be shipped off to some lab and dissected just like HYDRA did." He startled himself with his own honesty as he added, "I'd rather die."

The realization struck him even as Bucky agreed softly, that what he said would actually happen by the time he was done here. He hoped that Bucky wouldn't remember the weirdness of it. "There's something you need to do for me," Tony said, taking a deep breath. This would be the deal that got the ball rolling.

"Besides sew you up and keep this… whatever it is, a secret?" Bucky snickered as he spoke, stitching up the gunshot with steady hands.

It barely pinched. "This is the most advanced technology you'll see for the next seventy years, maybe longer," Tony told him, choosing his words carefully, "If HYDRA got a hold of it, I'm not sure that anything we do could make a difference. So when I give you a signal, you need to take it out and smash it." Now that the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back.

It was an exercise in self-control to not pretend it was all a joke and keep himself safe.

Carefully Bucky tied off the thread and cleaned up his supplies. His expression was thoughtful, going from his task to Tony and back again. "It would hurt," he said out of the blue.

"The outer ring stays in my chest. It's the middle part you need to unlock. That doesn't hurt if you get it right," Tony denied with a shake of his head. His hand trembled as he raked it through his greasy hair. Damn, he needed a shower.

Task done, Bucky examined the glowing machinery in the center of Tony's chest. "Can't you do it?" he asked.

Tony huffed out a fond laugh. "If I could, I'd save you the hassle," he said dryly, "But friends made me put locks on it that I can't undo myself. Had a really bad drunken night once, tried to take it out. Bad things happened." That was the understatement of the year; he was sure Pepper would have murdered him if he weren't already mostly dead at the time and Steve mother-henned him for the next two weeks.

"Okay," Bucky agreed, revolted and compliant at once, "How do I undo it?"

Tony pulled the other man's hand up and fixed larger fingers than his into the correct grooves. "Now don't pull it the whole way out, it's a real bitch to get the damn thing back in," he instructed, and then turned his friend's hand in the correct sequence. He more felt than heard the locks click open.

When all the locks were undone, he turned Bucky's hand in almost a full rotation before stopping. "If we were actually going to take it out, you'd keep going. There will be wires, pull those out too. The whole thing," Tony finished, and took a relieved breath when the other hand was removed from the most vulnerable part of him. It was easy enough to re-engage the locks, and with a last thump to the device it was back in position.

"What will happen if I do have to take it out?" Bucky asked, staring at the blue light. It made his eyes look a lot like someone under the thrall of Loki's staff.

"Eh, I'll get yelled at and have to pay for a replacement," Tony lied with a shrug.

"I bet this thing cost an arm and a leg," Bucky said, not knowing how close to the truth he was. Does half a sternum count?

The next question for some reason threw him: "Does Steve know?"

Tony's pause was apparently answer in and of itself.

"You didn't tell him," Bucky stated, deadpan. He watched with fascination as the light of the arc reactor was covered first with one shirt then the other.

The broom closet suddenly seemed dim.

"No," Tony confirmed. Now that his arc reactor was covered he felt better, less vulnerable.

"He won't sell you out, you've gotta know that," Bucky said. His expression was begging Tony to not be that stupid.

Tony snorted. Of all the people in the world, Steve was the last who would ever do that. "If he knew, he'd have to lie about it. You know it would tear him apart," he returned soberly.

In the yellow light, he saw Bucky frown. "But you're willing to make me lie," he pointed out.

"You're different," Tony replied softly. He silently begged his friend to understand. They were close enough to trust each other with the person most important to both of them, and after that damn lab they were close enough to trust each other with the truth.

He could only hope they were close enough to trust each other with a lie.

The tension drained from Bucky's shoulders and a tired smile tilted his lips. "If he finds out on his own, I'm not gonna cover for you. 'Specially not if he unleashes the full puppy dog pout," he threatened ineffectively.

The mere mention of them made Tony melt. No matter what form Steve was in, the eyes worked like magic. "You're an evil, evil man, Barnes," he huffed.

Bucky's smirk as he opened the closet door was unrepentant. "This was fun. We should do it again sometime," he said with a mischievous wink and rakish grin. If he hadn't already been head over heels for Steve, Tony would have been on his best friend like white on rice.

As it was, the man from the future simply cooed out some kind of flirty response before closing himself in the closet again. Oh, how many jokes he could make about this… The thought made him laugh, but the sound was more hysterical than he expected.

Then he realized that his hands shook as he ran them through his hair. This was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. What was he so worried about?

Just, you know, dying with no ability to say otherwise and knowing exactly how, when, where, why, and who was going to do it.

Arguably, the worst part about it was that he couldn't afford to keep it from happening. The world couldn't afford it.

* * *

Not even a week after they got back, Tony was called into the Colonel's office. What he did to warrant this he wasn't sure about, but he hoped that it had nothing to do with Bucky possibly ratting him out. He would _strangle_ the man for that.

When he opened to door to see Bucky standing in front of the desk, Tony sighed. He was so screwed. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it," he announced.

The Colonel looked suspiciously at him. "Guilty conscience?"

"Not at all," Tony answered with a smile. He stationed himself beside Bucky and had to resist the urge to stomp on the man's foot.

"Barnes tells me you can be trusted with a secret. No matter whether you take this assignment or not, that's the exact attitude you need to keep. This does not exist, and it never happened, and you didn't do it," the Colonel said, putting a weird amount of emphasis on the secrecy of whatever was going on.

"Sure. What's up?" Tony played it off, despite being fully serious.

They knew him too well to be fooled by it. "These are your targets, gents," the Colonel said, placing two photos in front of them.

The first was of a woman in a fancy coat, walking down a set of stairs. She was in her forties and rich. It was hard to tell in black and white, but she appeared to be a blonde, rather pretty.

The other was of a thin guy with a huge mustache, not rich or poor but striding to a car.

"Who are they?" Bucky asked immediately. There was no sign of a protest.

"The wife of the British ambassador to Iceland and her contact," the Colonel answered, pulling up a face shot of each, "The Ministry passed this assignment over to us. Too risky for them, apparently." He gave an unamused huff. "They're Nazi spies, and they need to be taken care of. Preferably at the same time, which is why we called you in here Starosta."

Tony wasn't sure whether he should be honored or insulted by the implication. "You need me to assassinate one of them while he gets the other," he stated, frowning.

"You're being sent after Danzig, while Barnes gets Mrs Stafford," the colonel agreed. The look on his face dared Tony to protest.

It was a pleasure to defy his expectations. "Are there any routines we should be aware of?" Tony asked instead.

When Colonel Phillips advised them of their best opportunities to complete their missions, Tony felt a little bile creep up into his throat. This wasn't what he had signed up for. He agreed anyways. He had to stay near Bucky.

They shipped out that night. According to the paperwork they were back in the States getting examined for changes that Zola had made to them while they were in captivity. Really they were on a tiny little plane on their way to Reykjavik, checking equipment as they did.

This explained a lot about Barnes's skills, Tony thought as he watched the man clean every bit of his sniper rifle, taking it apart and putting it back together with experienced hands. No one becomes an expert sharpshooter without advanced training. It just hadn't struck him before to ask.

"This is flattering and all, but why me?" Tony asked as he tucked a tiny Webley in his vest.

Bucky gave him a grim sort of smile. "A secret for a secret," he said, apparently unconcerned, "I know you can do it." There were several clicks as he put the final piece back in place and gave it a sharp hit to settle it.

"I don't know if I should be concerned by this opinion you have of me," Tony said, half joking.

"You hide it well, I'll give you that, but you're dangerous. I knew it from the minute I saw you. Why do you think I insisted that you come to the docks instead of looking after Steve after that first day?" Bucky asked hypothetically.

Okay, that was a good point. "I never knew you were such a sly son of a bitch," Tony said, almost impressed. If he wasn't aware of the Winter Soldier's resume of sneakiness, he would have been totally blindsided.

"When it matters," Bucky said with a nonchalant shrug, "The point here is that you're cold, you're ruthless, and I need someone who can shoot as well as I can to help me out on this."

"You found out about the incident with Loner or whatever the hell his name was, didn't you?" Tony asked tiredly. He was hoping that could stay locked up in the records.

"Steve needed somebody to talk to," Bucky replied, "That scared the living crap out of him, you know."

It almost made Tony feel bad. Not that he would have changed anything if he had the chance.

Their stop was called, the plane dipped down low.

"Time to put that into action," Tony said. He pulled on his parachute and had half a wish for a vibranium shield to break his fall. These landings hurt no matter how you did it.

One right after the other he and Bucky jumped.

The mission was disgustingly easy. As he waited for Bucky to finish his part, Tony wondered if maybe his critics were right. It was one thing to kill someone attacking you, it was another to kill them from a rooftop two blocks away while they were out for their evening constitutional. He had gotten away without a trace as the entire city went nuts.

When Bucky stumbled into the clearing that Tony had picked at two in the morning, he stank of women's perfume and sex and blood. "I hate this kind of mission," he complained as he flopped over beside his friend.

"Yeah?" Tony asked sarcastically. It seemed to him like the other man had a good time of it.

"I prefer to not kill my bed partners, thanks," Bucky replied acerbically.

The information had said that one of the few ways to get at her was to interest her sexually, get her in bed. Otherwise her guards were too good and she too vigilant. That she prefered younger men pointed at Bucky being the one to do it.

"How did you end up doing this anyways?" Tony asked. He looked up at the sky, identifying constellations and generally trying to pretend the answer didn't mean as much to him as it really did.

It took a moment for Bucky to gather his words. "When I got sent to boot camp the first time, they noticed I was a good shot. Natural talent, I guess. So they referred me for sniper training. I was the best one there. Then the OSS picked me up and that's that," he answered uncomfortably.

When Tony really thought about it, he could see it happening. The Winter Soldier had to come from somewhere. That kind of darkness and coldness couldn't be invented, it had to already be in there, nurtured and coaxed into what he saw whenever he looked into the eyes of the psycho assassin future self.

"How did you get like this?" Bucky returned. They had a couple more hours before they could be picked up, enough time to clear the air.

This time it was Tony who had trouble figuring out what to say. It was a very context-heavy story. "I was always a little cold and distant. One of those things about growing up ignored," he said bitterly, "It just grew from there. Every time I had to lie to myself to keep going it got a little deeper until… well, a good man died and it made me see everything. After that things got a little murkier." He wouldn't change Iron Man or being an Avenger for anything, but it rarely leant itself to simplicity. Things were in constant flux and shades of grey now.

Bucky put an arm over his shoulders. "Well, whatever happened, you're ours now," he declared. It meant more than he could know.

Ignoring the stench that clung to his friend was easy. Tony allowed himself to lean into the warmth beside him, hoping that six would come soon. He just wanted to sleep, goddammit.

That he would have more nightmares than usual was carefully not thought about.

"The Winter Soldier keeps taking shots at me. Doesn't he ever get bored with trying to die?" Bucky complained suddenly. His tone was of annoyance rather than disturbance, which was in itself unsettling.

"I don't think he knows anything but killing. Now that he's out on his own without assignments…" It was strange, talking to Bucky about the Winter Soldier like this.

"That's sad. Pitiful, really," Bucky huffed, "If I ever end up like that, please shoot me."

If they hadn't been trying to hide, Tony would have laughed. "No worries there," he finally said. He had already tried that (was still trying, really) and the records thankfully indicated that _someone_ in the Howling Commandos would succeed.

"What's so funny?" Bucky asked, quirking an eyebrow. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against his friend's shoulder, arm still slung across his back.

"Not that we'll have to worry about it, but same here. Just shoot me," Tony agreed. He remembered a highly redacted file involving an incident… Maybe this was a good deal. Just in case it was worse than he thought.

That would be difficult to pull off.

* * *

Missions kept going, and time flew by. Before Steve knew it, his team had earned the exact name and infamy that Tony had implied with his acceptance: they were the Howling Commandos now.

There were the average days, or what they could call average: sneaking into factories, blowing them up, breaking enemy lines, and planning to do it all again next time they were needed. Steve supposed that it wasn't really normal. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

Not even the time that their cover was blown because Tony started screaming like a little girl. It turned out that he was being attacked by chickens. They never did let him live that down.

Probably one of Steve's favorite stories to recount was the time that they needed to take a certain fort, largely intact. He had a plan that would have worked, despite that they would need to rebuild a couple of walls. But Tony had vetoed it.

"No no no, I have an idea that would get us a _whole_ fort with zero lives lost," the genius said with a grin. He rubbed his hands together eagerly as he looked around at the confused faces.

"And how could this possibly happen?" Peggy asked, amused and stern at once.

From the look of glee on Tony's face, he had been waiting for someone to ask. "It's called a Bavarian Fire Drill," he told them, "And I'll need a Nazi general's uniform, a henchman- that'll be you, Bucky-"

"Why do I have to be a henchman?" Bucky protested, scowling.

"Because every German commander has at least one lackey with him at all times, Gabe is black, they'd assume Steve was in charge, and nobody else knows German," Tony answered comprehensively, "We really need someone who knows German and your accent is passable for somewhere in the Black Forest."

When Bucky had learned German, Steve didn't ask. Must have happened in the HYDRA factory before he got sent to the lab.

"Anyway, we'll need a uniform for him too. German weapons and a captured jeep would add a nice touch," Tony continued, "The plan is too stupid to be allowed, just like Operation Mincemeat, but that's why it'll work, again like Operation Mincemeat." He looked around expectantly, waiting for someone to protest.

Instead, he got Colonel Phillips leaning forward to eye him beadily. "You tell me you're going to drive up, pretend to be German, and then convince them of what?" he asked around the mouth of his pipe.

"Retreat, of course," Tony said, now looking at the Colonel like he was the stupid one.

It could never work, Steve thought, it was too dumb. As Dum Dum put it, this was 'balls out bonkers'.

Everyone looked to the Colonel to stop this madness. He had to. "It's so nuts it can't fail," he judged.

Steve resisted the urge to slap himself in frustration.

Bucky didn't bother censoring himself and slammed his face into the table.

It only made Tony smirk.

The next day they got two German uniforms, a captured car, and weapons for Tony and Bucky to take into the snake pit. That evening they drove into the fort.

"If they get caught, I'mma kill 'em," Dum Dum threatened under his breath as they watched the fort from the treeline.

Near the middle of the night there was a huge racket inside. Lights were suddenly switched on and troops assembled in the courtyard hastily before marching out. There was no big fanfare or announcement, just the Germans leaving.

An hour later, the signal was given: the Nazi flag was set on fire.

Half-expecting to see most of the chain of command dead in their rooms, Steve led the charge inside. At the gates, Tony greeted them with a sly grin. "To think, you doubted me," he said smugly.

"I can't fucking believe it," Jim said, eyes darting around the empty fort.

"Me either," Tony admitted, before waving for them to follow, "I had to kill the general, but somehow nobody noticed. Doesn't matter, they're gone and they didn't take most of the food."

With a cheer, the Commandos followed him to the kitchens.

There wasn't a single German left in the place, and by the time they realized they had been duped the fort was already heavily manned by combined British and American troops. It got Tony the nickname, 'Ballsiest Idiot in the Force' and the raid went down in history.

There were a few times that similar scenarios happened, except with each one the operation got so insane that it felt like they were breaking reality. Some spy missions hinged on Gabe's educated German accent or Steve's commanding presence or Tony being faster than hunting dogs. That last one was a pain to deal with and an almost-complete failure.

The recon sweeps were the weirdest, with them in a variety of disguises. Once Bucky and Gabe were set up to meet with the Scarlet Pimpernel of the Vatican and to do so dressed up as Catholic priests from Munich. Tony never let them live that one down; Bucky punched him in the face for it.

So of course, the actual missions get weirder. There were a few that involved derailing trains or destroying infrastructure, though bomber planes were usually used for those purposes. Several prison escapes were planned and carried out. Once they had to deliver an insanely valuable lute from Denmark to Switzerland and barely avoided breaking it when Dum Dum used it as a makeshift club in a particularly desperate battle.

Then they were given a mission that ordinarily would have gone to the Baker Street Irregulars, and all marched down to HQ to give the Colonel a piece of their minds. "This is not the kind of mission we were formed for. What are you thinking?" Steve demanded, slamming the assignment on the desk.

At his back, the other Commandos huffed out agreements.

"You're the most versatile team we've got. What's the problem?" Colonel Phillips asked, reading through the assignment.

"We are a battlefield unit, not assassins," Steve replied tightly.

The Colonel let out a strange little huff of laughter before he sobered once again. "Yes, this would usually go to the SOE," he acknowledged, "but all their agents are unavailable and this needs to be done by the end of the week. We're the closest to the position with a chance at pulling it off. If you succeed it could end the war a few months sooner." It became obvious how much this wore on him when he rubbed his eyes. The little wrinkles and frown lines deepened and the grey of his hair gleamed in the dim light.

Steve's lips thinned as he turned to the Commandos to take a vote. "You heard the Colonel. What do you think?" he asked.

At once Tony and Bucky shrugged. "We're in if you are," the latter commented lightly. That they didn't seem to have a problem with murdering people in cold blood was rather concerning.

From the look on Jim's face, he agreed with Steve's private assessment. "I don't like it, but I'll do it this time," he replied. From the nods that the others gave with various amounts of grumbling, that was the consensus.

When Steve turned around again, he saw that Colonel Phillips looked amused. "Keep the mission details and I'll make notes in your files. No more assassinations for the infamous Howling Commandos," the older man said somewhat mockingly, handing back the crumpled paper, "You leave in two days."

It was a long time before Steve found out why his man and best friend had no problems with shooting people in their beds. By then it would be too late to do anything about it.


	11. Trainspotting

Thank you to the wonderful **tigerlilly** and **Oblivion772** for your kind reviews. It means the world to know that someone is actually reading.

I had a ridiculously fun time with this chapter; the historical references just kept sneaking in. Brownie points to whoever catches the most! I also drew some pretty heavy inspiration from Kingsman: The Secret Service, for what's possibly its most infamous line. I highly encourage anyone to see this wonderful movie that hasn't already.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing under copyright.

 **Chapter 10: Trainspotting**

" _Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. "_

― _William S. Burroughs_

In April, 1944 the Commandos reluctantly accepted the assignment to assassinate of a flock of Nazi generals. Most of the security depended on potential attackers being caught doing something suspicious by the random patrols (it was an occupied city, after all) and unable to pass the guards stationed both outside and inside. Any other group would have found it difficult at best.

The plan was simple: sneak by the patrols, distract the guards, and do their jobs.

The execution turned out not so simple.

The Commandos had ducked into the basement of a building across the street from the targets and went over the plan once more. As the fastest of them and the best bullshitter, Tony was the distraction and when his job was done, Frenchie would pull him out. Steve would take care of the guards inside while the other Commandos would do the actual assassinations.

Normally, this wouldn't be their job; the go-to guys for covert murder were Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare. But their operatives were all busy and this needed to be done now.

Steve tried not to think of how Tony and Bucky had casually shrugged and accepted the assignment without argument. At least the rest of the Commandos had protested that they were a battlefield unit and not recruited for stabbing people in the dark.

After a patrol went by, Steve signaled for the op to begin.

In response, Tony gave him a mocking two finger salute and exited a window that led into an alley. It was difficult to not watch his backside as he wriggled out.

Listening at the window, it was easy to tell when he engaged. "Halt! Who are you and what is your business out after curfew!" one of the guards called in French.

In the same language, Tony responded cheerfully, "Oh, me? I'm an atheist whore who just got done enjoying congress out of wedlock with my Irish Catholic boyfriend who works in an American military abortion clinic."

When Gabe translated in a whisper for the rest, voice full of awe, the general consensus seemed to be one of disbelief. "You must have heard wrong," Monty insisted.

"I heard just fine," Gabe hissed, "And he just said, 'Hail Satan and have a lovely night'."

Indeed, he had.

"Cap? Are you okay?" asked Jim, eyebrow raised in the dim light.

"Is he even breathing?" asked Dum Dum. He sounded amused, the ass.

No, Steve wasn't breathing. He was too horrified and exasperated and terribly, strangely, aroused for that. Aside of Steve not working at an abortion clinic and that they hadn't fondued, it was all true. Sure, he was a lapsed Catholic, and Irish-American rather than straight-up Irish, but who was counting?

From his snickers, Bucky got the references.

For a moment there was silence before one of the guards shouted for Tony to come back.

"Nope! Time for more congress out of wedlock!" Tony taunted, and with an exhilarated laugh could easily be heard running away.

A look outside showed both of the guards running after him. That worked better than they expected.

Leaving Frenchie behind, Steve and the Commandos slid out of the basement and sprinted across the street to do their jobs. There was no resistance until they got to the second floor.

Steve dispatched the guards as they came across them, leaving the others to do the actual assassinations. He had never been one to hurt someone who couldn't or wouldn't fight back. One of the many reasons their unit was unfit for this job.

On the third floor, they ran across corpses. The guards were all dead and half their targets were, the other half hiding in their closets or similar. Who else was in on this assignment?

Warily Steve took point and began investigating the fourth floor. That was where he found a group of young people doing just what his men were, speaking rapidly in French as they did. One noticed him and automatically pointed a gun at him, but lowered it the second she saw the shield and uniform. "What are you doing here, Captain America?" she asked, incredulous.

"I was going to ask the same thing," Steve answered, likewise in French. Thank God he had been learning to understand Frenchie.

The call attracted the attention of her colleagues, who pulled similar moves as her. "We are the French Resistance," answered a middle-aged man with a sparse ginger mustache, "It was a good opportunity, here. What are you doing?"

Steve frowned under his helmet. "It was a good opportunity," he answered, putting the pieces together to form a picture he didn't like. "Too good."

It was obvious when they got the message; their eyes widened and they began conferring frantically. "We are leaving. We may be able to escape," said the woman with panicked bulging eyes.

"Go, we'll keep them busy," Steve told them, hefting his shield. Before he could even get to the stairs, he heard the signs of a firefight erupting from the floor below.

The woman nodded and began to rally the others, encouraging them to run the opposite way. A series of shouts left them as doors all over the hall opened and people inside opened fire.

Lips twisted with determination, Steve swung around and began sprinting. A door opened to his immediate left and his stomach burned when a bullet grazed it. He sent the agent reeling with a punch.

When he got to them, two of the six Resistance were down and another had been shot in the shoulder. It only made them more vicious as, with Steve's help, they fought their way to a stairwell. From the plain narrowness of it, it was a staff space.

All the worse for them, Steve thought, as they sprinted down at breakneck speed. To keep from getting hit from above he kept his shield high, the pings when bullets hit like rainfall with the frequency. At the stairwell exit, the ginger man got shot down.

The entire unit crammed into the loading dock they came out in was cut down by a hail of bullets from the other end of the room. Two blasts off a shotgun made Steve sigh in relief; the Commandos were at least mostly fine. From the amount of bullets replacing the air, all of them were.

It was less than a minute before every Nazi in the room was mowed down.

"C'mon!" Steve urged those he was with, and ran out to meet the Commandos.

They were covered in blood and scowling, weapons at their shoulders. None of them appeared too badly injured, only Monty bleeding from the forearm. "They knew we were coming," Gabe observed grimly.

"Commandos, the French Resistance," Steve hastily introduced, before switching languages, "French Resistance, meet most of the Howling Commandos. Let's move!" He led the way out, guarding the group as Frenchie and the woman hotwired two of the jeeps they found outside to escape.

It was only as he was driving, the Resistance and Dum Dum with him, that he realized: if this was a trap, what was being done with Tony and Frenchie? All he could do was hope that they got away safely.

The reality, it turns out, was much grimmer.

* * *

Somehow, Tony knew that it shouldn't have been this easy. That both guards had followed him was a big heads-up.

That he and Frenchie got surrounded by enemies not even five minutes after the distraction took off was the bigger one. A mile from the hotel where the raid/trap was taking place, what looked like a whole unit pointed guns at them. There were no weak spots, no gaps in the ranks, nothing to exploit. Just hardened SS shock troops.

Even as he skidded to a stop, Tony put his hands up. It was damn good that they weren't wearing fatigues, he thought with a scowl. The only distinction they had immediately visible was the wing sewn onto their left shoulder of their jackets.

Beside him, Frenchie swore. He dropped his pistol to the cobblestone with a clatter.

The guns lowered slightly.

"Good idea," Tony told them in French with a manic grin. His eyes darted around, looking for anything they could use, and even with his genius mind came up with nothing.

A man swaggered forward, handcuffs shining in the moonlight, to take their weapons and restrain them. He seemed to enjoy it a little too much, from how he groped around.

"Careful on the goods, love," Tony told him with a cheesy smile.

It got him a hit to the head that should have knocked him out. As it was, he stumbled into Frenchie and swore.

The man looked slightly impressed as he inspected one of the revolvers he took from Tony, admiring the workmanship. It cracked Tony across the head.

That did succeed in knocking him out.

When he came to, it was in a dark place with lots of people. The murmurings of the people around him were mostly in French with some Yiddish, so they were still in France and probably packed in with Jewish people. Wood splintered against Tony's face and he felt the floor sway and squeak.

He was on a train. He was on a train filled with Jewish people. Shit. He knew exactly what was going on here and didn't like the implication.

"Frenchie?" he asked, finally deciding to let the world know he was alive.

Immediately a familiar hand gripped his. "Tony! I thought they had killed you!" Frenchie said, relief in every syllable.

The joy was spoiled by where they were and what was coming. "Where are we headed?" Tony asked urgently, looking around.

In the dim light, he was able to see several dozen other people crammed into what looked like the cattle car of a train. There was barely enough room to sit, so some children were in their parents' lap. Tony's own legs were on Frenchie until he sat up.

The world spun and he got the urge to throw up. No, that would be counter-productive.

"They called it Le Vernet," Frenchie answered, bewildered, "Do you know anything about it?"

It took a moment to remember that Tony was generally considered an intelligence officer in the Commandos. Double shit. They had to come up with a plan to hide that. "It's an internment camp. They work the prisoners until they're transferred elsewhere for… worse," Tony answered with a grimace.

From the sudden whiteness of Frenchie's face, he understood. "What can we do?"

Looking around at all the resigned but stubborn faces around them, Tony knew they could do it. They had to make it out of here. And these people might be able to also. "When we looked to be slowing down, I'll break open the door and we all jump out," he said.

Even to him this sounded insane and doomed to fail. It was like he had taken an actual good plan and replaced every instance of 'tactical' with 'balls-out'.

Worse, it was all they had. There was no way in hell Tony would ever go to an internment camp.

When the thought of what could happen struck him, he realized that he had no idea what happened when he was out. Frantically he checked his chest, hoping against hope that they hadn't seen his arc reactor… When he touched it and there seemed to be nothing wrong with it, he sighed in relief.

"All they did was take our names and ranks from me. I told them we were French Resistance. They did not touch you, I made sure of it," Frenchie assured him. It was obvious that he didn't understand his teammate's panic, and that was a relief in itself.

Tony allowed himself a silly grin. Good old Frenchie. "Good, that's good. I need a shower anyways, I'd just hoped I wouldn't be washing off Nazi germs also," he said with a laugh.

It was a terrible joke, but Frenchie laughed along.

A boy asked then, "Are you soldiers?" His mother hushed him.

"It's alright. We have little to do other than talk now," Frenchie assured with a friendly smile, "Yes we are soldiers, young one." His smile was warm and wistful. Did he have a family already, somewhere in France? It never struck Tony to ask until now.

"Are you going to help us?" asked the boy. Curious, he crawled off his mother's lap and toward the men sitting against the wall.

"We'll try," Tony said. He could promise nothing more.

It was enough for the people listening. Everywhere faces shone with hope that wasn't there before. They turned to listen, eager to know what was going to happen.

To better be heard and seen, Tony stood up. He pulled Frenchie up beside him, showing that it wasn't just the American giving the orders here. It was an equal partnership. "Is there anyone here that can't walk or has trouble walking?" he called out.

A hand rose and an old woman's voice croaked out, "My knees are arthritic." In addition, there were nine children below the age of ten, and some people managed to keep some food. It was better than Tony expected.

"We're going too fast right now, but when the train begins to slow down I'm going to open the door. We'll need to jump out, then gather together on the left side of the train tracks," Tony instructed in a voice just loud enough to be heard clearly.

"How will you open the doors? They are locked," questioned a teen boy doubtfully from the back corner.

"Listen, I know you have no reason to believe us," Tony said, partially in response, "You don't know us and, hell, I'm not even French. But…" His gaze swept over every face he could see. "We are Howling Commandos. We don't leave people behind."

There was silence for a long while. There was murmuring, deciding, but the tone was not of derision or disagreement. That was good enough for now.

Frenchie grinned over at him. "Very inspiring," he commented.

"Now we need to put our money where my mouth is," Tony said with a grimace. He was drawing some uncomfortable parallels with the Great POW Rescue, as the Azzano incident was now called. Would it be too much to ask for this to go the same way?

A consensus seemed to be reached not an hour later. "How are you going to get the doors open?" an old man asked expectantly.

Tony was sure his smirk could be seen even in the nearly-dark cattle car. "Lucky for us, I'm not a normal guy," he said back. "I can break it."

Though no one, including Frenchie, looked like they believed him, not a word was said. Instead they all sat quietly and gathered their strength, hoping against hope that they could pull this off.

Or at least that's what Tony was doing. He would amend his plans according to what was seen outside, and where that meant they were approximately according to Frenchie. He would figure out logistics and travel plans. He would mostly hope he was doing the right thing and doing it well.

Because when it came down to it, Tony wasn't a hero. Most things that went wrong in his life did so because of him; sometimes he couldn't tell the difference between saving the world and destroying it. When he screwed things up though, he did his damnedest to repair them.

This was one of those things that even though he had no hand in making it happen (for once) he could fix it. Maybe he could really become an Avenger, one good deed at a time.

It was several hours before Tony heard the brakes begin to grind. By then several people had fallen asleep and he was on his way there. The noise immediately startled him into wakefulness. "Get back from the doors!" he shouted, and waded to the exit.

People scrambled away and others stood up, waiting with baited breath.

With gritted teeth Tony pulled on the seam of the doors. Once, twice… On the third time, he could hear the doors splinter. A fourth broke the locking mechanism and right side door flew open.

Exhilarated, Tony laughed. It was still cold enough for snow to litter the ground, so their landings would be soft. "Come on, jump!" he shouted, and waved a hand at the open doors.

Outside trees sped by in almost a blur, and smoke from the engine trailed over them. The wind chapped his face with the speed they were still going. It was a damn scary idea to jump out of a moving train.

The mother whose child first asked if they were soldiers gathered her son close and staggered to the doors, face determined. "Thank you," she whispered before she dove outside.

After her, there was almost a rush. Frenchie regulated the flow so that no one landed on each other, while Tony gathered those who were too scared or unable to make it. Several people they had to toss out because their limbs had locked.

When it looked to be just them left, Tony nodded at Frenchie. "Go!" he shouted.

The Frenchman gave a cheerful little salute as he leaped from the car, which had since dramatically slowed down. When Tony looked, he was able to roll to his feet and start running immediately.

It was his turn, but something wasn't right… A last look around the car had him eyeing a corner where something had been left behind.

No, someone. A little girl stared up at him with wide dark eyes from the corner she had curled up in.

Tony tried not to swear; instead he gave her a tight smile. "Our turn to get out of here," he told her and without waiting for a response picked her up. At the entrance of the car he muttered, "Geronimo," and took the jump.

When they hit ground, he was able to do it at a run. They were too close to their destination to be safe. This was where the snow would be a bother; it would make being tracked easy.

Knowing they had no time to waste, Tony began the walk along the rail to find the others. First was Frenchie, then most of those in the order of when they took the jump. One man had broken his leg, another his arm, but they were in reasonably good condition considering.

"Frenchie, you know the land. Lead us to safety," Tony told his teammate with an excited grin. Talk about the great train jailbreak!

The other Commando clapped a hand to his shoulder and issued the order to get walking into the woods. They headed east.

Those who had trouble walking were helped along, arms thrown over shoulders, in the middle of the group. Children were herded along near the back with Tony making sure none of them wandered off or got left behind. The girl he had found in the corner was still in his arms, having refused to let go of him.

It was a week of walking before they came across anything remotely good. Nazi patrols narrowly missed them and they were always hungry, tired and cold. It was better than being dead, they all agreed, and pushed on with gritted teeth.

Hunting would take too much time, even with Tony, and they couldn't risk a fire to cook the meat, so they were reduced to stealing from homesteads and melting frost in their hands to drink. The snow that had saved them kept berries or other plants from being edible. Sometimes townspeople would give them food when a few of them sneaked into settlements. It was enough to survive on until they got to the lines.

When they did, it was of course on the wrong side. That wasn't a problem for them. What was a problem was the firefight going on.

To keep the survivors of the train from getting hit they were kept behind the treeline with instructions that should hopefully keep them safe in either scenario that could happen. When they heard the insane plan Tony and Frenchie concocted, they protested. Amalie, the mother, told them straight up, "You will be killed and then what will happen to us?" Sly, manipulative woman.

"We won't," Tony assured her with gravity. Neither of them would meet their end there. History said otherwise. He managed to pry the girl he had carried, whom he suspected was mute, off of him with a small smile and a chiding push toward Amalie.

She watched with big brown eyes that he suspected would haunt him for a long time, even as she took hold of Amalie's skirt. Not even a smile and a ruffle of her hair took that away.

As they sneaked away from the hiding place they'd picked, Tony and Frenchie concocted their actual plan of attack. It ended up being exactly as Tony had told Cap all those years ago: attack.

They slithered to the edge of the German trench and Tony slipped down it to get the jump on the Germans. The one weapon he had been able to hide, a garrotte, he used to slice the neck of the sentry. It was enough to get his weapons.

Surprisingly it was easy to cut down five men before anyone noticed anything. When they did, the Commandos gave a shout and used the dead bodies to absorb the gunfire aimed their way as they used stolen guns to fire back. Hands slippery with blood, they managed to keep a steady hold of their weapons and pick up new ones off the ground when those were empty.

It was enough to give the Allies an advantage. They stormed the trench, and it turned into World War I all over again but without mustard gas.

To their credit, the Nazis gave up the trench inch by bloody inch. Bodies fell as they wrestled, guns traded out for bayonets and knives with the occasional grenade getting pitched. Blood sprayed everywhere and dirt became mud.

Finally, it looked like the Allies had things taken care of. Tony took the opportunity to sit down on a conveniently placed rock and ignore the corpses. He deserved a breather, goddammit.

When the CO of the company they helped came over, it was difficult to restrain the urge to squeal like a teenage girl at the Twilight premier. It was Audie Murphy. Yes, _that_ one, who was basically Cap if he had gotten a chance as his skinny little self. "Thanks for the help, but who are you?" he asked, frowning at the older man.

"Tony Starosta, Howling Commandos," he answered, holding out a hand tiredly.

Down the trench, Frenchie gave his name, Jacques Dernier.

From the look of glee on the tiny man's face, he knew exactly who they were. "What are you doing here? Where's Captain America?" he questioned, shaking their hands firmly.

"We," he gestured to where Frenchie leaned on a trench wall, "got captured on a raid. We and some others managed to escape from a train heading to a concentration camp. Had to get past this dump to get to safety, thought we may as well take care of it ourselves."

That was when Frenchie volunteered to get the others, and scrambled up the wall to do so.

"How many?" Little did Tony expect, Murphy was adept at organization as well as being an unstoppable murder machine. Then again how else would he have been made platoon commander?

When the train refugees were brought over, several being carried, immediate measures were taken to get them help. Vehicles and drivers were requisitioned to get them away from the front lines and even though they were crowded, they were safe.

Tony managed to fall asleep for most of the ride to Palermo despite that it was spent with that same little girl on his lap. The moment she saw him, she attached herself again. No matter how much he bitched, he didn't have the heart to push her away.

There he managed to slip away to the boat that would take him and several other troops to England. A message had already been sent to London about Tony and Frenchie; they were expected to report as soon as they were picked up from the docks.

The ride was hard, waves rolling and crashing against the hull. It was lucky Tony didn't get seasick easily, unlike poor Frenchie who spent most of his time throwing up. The smell almost made him go the same way.

When they got to Dover several days later, it was raining. "Fucking perfect," Tony grumbled as he made his way down the gangway, shoulders hunched against the weather. Was it too much to ask for, to not get soaked after spending a whole fucking week camping in the snow?

Most of the guys around him didn't mind at all. They were too busy being happy to be back on friendly soil, and Tony couldn't blame them. As the famous quote goes, war is hell but actual combat is a son of a bitch.

"Tony!"

He jerked his head up, hearing that beloved voice. If he felt like being snarky at that moment, he would have said that he smelled freedom and heard the Liberty Bell. As it was, Tony just looked for the tallest guy at the dock.

And there he was, wading through the crowd with the biggest smile Tony had seen on him since they first admitted their feelings for each other on the tube. Water darkened blonde hair kept falling into his eyes from the rain, but he didn't notice beyond impatiently swiping it away. No, his attention was all for Tony.

As they pushed through the crowd toward each other, it was just like one of those sappy romantic movie scenes. Even felt like one. Tony didn't give a single shit, he just ran forward and threw himself into Steve's arms, gripped around his neck tightly with a slightly hysterical laugh.

Steve's enthusiastic hug lifted him off the ground and for the first time in a week he felt safe.

It actually hurt to let go, but they had to. Each finger was pried off of each other individually, reluctantly, and covered up by the enthusiasm Steve greeted Frenchie with. "That's it, we're calling you the escape artists of the century," he said with a laugh, "You can tell me all about it in the car."

The whole way there, Steve and Tony's hands brushed against each other while Frenchie slept. No matter how much he wasn't usually for PDA, Tony wished they could hold hands. It would underline that this was real, because right now it felt like a wonderful dream he was having in a snowbank somewhere.

Once in the car there was no chance for it; Steve was the one driving. Was this a precursor to him learning how to steal a car in Germany? Tony snickered at the memory of his disbelief when Nat recounted that conversation from when they were on the run from HYDRA.

Far from a pang of homesickness, this brought on the full urge to curl up in a ball and eat ice cream in front of some trash TV. This Steve was far different than the one he couldn't believe knew how to steal a car, and he actually missed him having a stick up his fine ass and an overprotective streak a mile long. He missed Clint being in his vents and Thor accidentally destroying his house and Nat making eyes at a not entirely unsuspecting Bruce in a sickening parody of themselves. He even missed the ninja pirate cyclops a little, though he would never admit that.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked as he pulled away from the docks. Of course he knew; he always knew.

Tony smiled but he knew it wasn't convincing. "I guess I just miss home," he said softly, curling into a ball in his seat. If Frenchie were awake instead of snoring against a back window, he would never have admitted it.

Once he didn't need to shift gears again for a while, Steve took his hand and brought it up to his face to kiss the scabbed knuckles. "I do too. But we'll get back to Brooklyn soon," he assured, not knowing how far off and yet close he was to the truth.

It was easier to let him keep thinking that. "Yeah. We will," Tony agreed, ignoring the tingling in his hand.

No, they wouldn't go back to Brooklyn. But Steve would go on a roaring rampage of revenge after Bucky's loss that would lead to his deep sleep under the ice and eventually Avengers Tower in Manhattan. It would have to be close enough.

Time passed. Tony was there when Jim showed them how to hotwire a car near Cologne, and laughed far too hard when Steve was a natural. Oh Thor, the world would be doomed if Captain America had less scruples than he did.

There were some close calls, of course, some of which were only avoided by Tony vetoing a certain course of action and refusing to budge for love or money. Not even Steve's begging blue eyes, though he came damn close. But each time they all miraculously made it home alive, if singed or otherwise wounded.

Then May came, and Dum Dum's strange idea with it.

* * *

They were on their way back from another mission, this one in Lithuania, when the big man sidled over to where Steve was surveying the area around their camp. It was an enclosed space without being easily ambushed, hidden from prying eyes. The privacy was probably why Dum Dum said anything in the first place.

"Hey, Cap? Need to talk," he said gruffly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that they were alone.

"Yeah, sure, what about?" Steve replied, shifting to see better. He tilted his head curious to the side, watching his friend shift uneasily. What could possibly be making him so nervous?

Again Dum Dum looked over his shoulder, shifted closer, and almost whispered. "I, uh, think your boyfriend might be, uh, cheating on you."

The shock that someone- probably all of them- had figured it out was second only to the notion of Tony cheating on him. It was dismissed with a scowl. "What makes you say that?" Steve asked, trying to not be forbidding and drive off the other man.

"Listen, we all know, and honestly, we couldn't care less that the two of you are guys. You love him and that's that. But he's always sneaking off with Bucky and whispering and there's something secret there that doesn't seem right, considering, even with Gabe saying that it might be because of what happened in the lab," Dum Dum hurried to explain, giving another paranoid glance over his shoulder.

He was always a hot-head when it came to his relationships and the people in them, but Steve resolved to think this through rather than immediately put his huge foot in his mouth. It was true that there were secrets being kept, by both of the people most important to him. The haunted gazes, the thousand yard stares when they were left to their own devices too long, said more than words ever could. They did seem to be closer than back in Brooklyn, before this insanity, but Steve had always taken it as one of those things that happen when you go through the same kind of inhuman suffering at the hands of the same tormentor. Not that he had experience in that area.

According to what Gabe remembered from his psychology classes back in the States, they were showing behaviors similar to children who are sexually abused: depression, anxiety, a form of shell shock, and (if they were right) sexual experimentation with each other. The mere concept made Steve sick. Not because of them being male, which would be one of the most hypocritical things on the planet, or even that it was Tony and Bucky. It would mean that they were violated in a way no one should ever experience. Steve would have even more reason to hate Zola, and he didn't want to hate anyone more than he already did.

When it came down to it, there was the possibility that Dum Dum was right. What Steve saw one way could very well be something different. Their disappearances and double meanings could have been them timing their next rendezvous for when they were alone.

Something in Steve's heart screamed out against that. It wasn't right, it was suspicion and supposition. Once again, he followed that beat in his chest. "Thanks for telling me what you think, I appreciate it. I think it's something else though," he said as diplomatically as he could.

Dum Dum gave him a half-shrug, saying without words, "Suit yourself."

A thought struck Steve as he watched his friend start wading through the underbrush toward the campsite again. "What's all the paranoia about?" he asked, curious and concerned.

"Don't you know? The two of them don't seem quite human anymore," Dum Dum answered in a voice that seemed half-amused and half-dreading, "Not that we really thought Tony was in the first place." He gave a grim smile to the Captain before he left.

Alone once more, Steve took a moment to think on those words too. He had noticed Bucky and Tony were changing, and taken that as just one of those things that happens when a person serves with an elite team in an insane war. But that didn't quite fit either.

They were getting too strong, too fast, for it to be completely natural. They were able to keep up with him, which had felt too right to question. They were right where they were supposed to be. Except that he was Serum-enhanced and they weren't.

Then there was the issue of Tony himself… War is supposed to age people, but he seemed to only be getting younger. It wasn't from any kind of manic glee (except when he was blowing things to hell), or bloodlust, or any of those other things that may have been concerning beyond shell-shock leftover from the lab. No, the actual lines of his face and thickness of his hair were slowly filling in.

There was something strange going on, even more than before. And Steve was going to figure out what it was, even if it took him the whole war.

Before he could contemplate more than that, arms snaked around his waist. The only thing that kept him from attacking out of reflex was that he knew those arms and the smell of hot metal and cloves. It was Tony.

"Having any deep thoughts you'd like to share with the class?" the other man teased, a smile in his voice.

There were many things that Steve could have said. He could have mentioned that Dum Dum thought Tony was cheating. He could have asked about Bucky. Instead, he said, "The team knows. About us."

A thoughtful hum was accompanied by what felt like a shrug. "Doesn't bother me," Tony replied, "They won't report us."

Steve smiled and closed his eyes. His hands came up to hold the scarred, calloused ones folded over his middle. "No, they won't," he agreed.

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the crackle of the campfire and quiet voices of the Commandos nearby. It was a rare peaceful moment in their chaotic lives.

"Does it bother you?" Tony asked. There was a note of uncertainty in his voice that Steve rarely heard. It made his heart lurch uncomfortably.

Honestly, it took a moment for Steve to decide. He had never thought that he would be outed, and if he was then the consequences would be clear. This was a grey area he hadn't planned for. "As long as nothing bad comes out of it, no. I don't mind at all," he eventually said, "If anything, it's a relief." He turned around in his man's embrace to see the look on his face when he said, "No matter what anyone thinks, I'm not ashamed of you, Tony."

There was an unguarded joy in the older man's face that took his breath away. "You're not joking, are you? That would be cruel," Tony said with a weak smile.

"If I could, I'd let the whole world know that you're mine," Steve promised sadly. If only that were an option.

"If I were a kite, you'd put a tail on me and take me to the park," Tony quipped. He looked down at Steve's chest, swallowed, before he asked, "What if the wrong people do find out?" He played with the utility belt Steve wore, running his fingers along the upper edge of the leather.

It was something that he had spent a little too long thinking (worrying) about since the team had formed. The chances of them being found out had skyrocketed with that. "Then we try to change things," Steve said firmly, "It won't be easy but we can do it."

Tony looked like he very much wanted to believe it. "If anyone can change this world, it's you," he said quietly, "And if we can't?"

"Then we'll run," Steve promised. Something inside of him lurched at the thought of running away, even with the man he loved, "Anywhere, everywhere." He swallowed nervously; he was winging it.

"Is Captain America suggesting we break out of prison?" Tony asked with a fake little gasp.

"No, we'd escape before they were able to get us there," Steve continued, smiling at the blatant imagining, "We could disguise ourselves and run for the border. Live anywhere, do anything, be anyone." He reached behind him and untangled Tony's fingers from his belt, bringing their hands together between them.

"That doesn't sound so bad," Tony agreed. In the sparse moonlight, his face was sad and hopeful at once.

For a moment they stayed that way, frozen in time. It was almost peaceful.

"What are you really thinking about?" Tony asked. Something in his eyes was far too knowledgeable for Steve's comfort.

It made the blonde's skin crawl. "Nothing much," he lied cheerfully, "You know me, always planning for the next mission."

Tony shook his head with a fond sigh. It seemed that he believed it.

Even as Steve smiled and allowed his head to be tilted down for a kiss, he hated himself.


	12. The Cheese Stands Alone

Here's an extra-special early chapter as thanks for over 2,500 views! I'm amazed that this is so well liked, even if not many people actually tell me so.

Thanks to **Tigerlilly** and **Oblivion772** for their encouraging words. Things are indeed getting complicated. I just hope that the eventual resolution is at least somewhat satisfactory!

Anyone interested in more Stony from me should check out my Avengers one-shot, **Genesis**. It's not so much time travel as reincarnation, but if you're still reading this then it may be your cup of tea.

For reference, I do not own the image being used as the cover photo. I found it on Google Images. All the credit to whoever did create it!

Blame my fiancee for the title of this chapter. He gave me a dare and I fulfilled it.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 11: The Cheese Stands Alone**

" _There is some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for."_

― _J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers_

That was far from the last mission. Of course not. That would be too easy, it was only 1944.

On June 3, the Commandos were called into the SSR headquarters. Mostly confused, they came, but Tony only felt the beginnings of terror mixed with excitement. He knew what was happening in three days and wasn't sure if he wanted a part in that.

When they were told what to expect, the others looked just as stunned as Tony felt. "So we're finally launching an invasion?" Jim asked, daring anyone to refute him.

The Colonel agreed, and Frenchie almost started crying from sheer happiness.

Tony patted his friend's shoulder with a grin. "Hear that? You're going home," he said, utterly jubilant for what this meant.

"Not quite yet. First we've got to invade, and that's going to be the biggest engagement in the entire damn war so far," Colonel Phillips said, grim as ever, "That's what we're calling on you for. You're going to do your usual hit and run strikes, but on German defensive positions instead of HYDRA factories." It was exactly what Tony expected. He almost looked forward to it.

"What's Steve doing, if he's not here?" Bucky asked shrewdly, frowning at the implication. They would be going it alone.

Old film reels flashed before Tony's eyes, and suddenly he knew. "He's wading ashore with everyone else, isn't he?" he asked, settling back into his chair.

The Colonel looked impressed and disparaging at once. "Symbols are meant to be seen," he stated with all the derision possible.

It was a better response than Tony expected. He and Phillips had always butted heads. "Okay then, what's the plan for us, beyond parachuting in and doing our thing?" he asked.

"Wait a minute, we're a unit. All of us, including Cap. Shouldn't we be with him?" Dum Dum asked, mustache wiggling as his expressions changed.

The thought was touching, but Tony shook his head. For all that they were the best, the Howling Commandos were not meant for open battlefields.

Agent Carter agreed. "If anyone is capable of getting through this battle, it's Captain Rogers. He needs you to support his movements instead of making them with him, this time," she said, dark eyes burning into them as she looked around the table.

"What's the plan?" Jim repeated.

It sounded simple: get dropped behind the lines and raid in pairs. Kill sentries, steal cars, disable weapons, that sort of thing. Little hit and run jobs, just enough to disrupt the defenses. It sounded like a good plan.

"There are seven of us," Monty pointed out.

Tony was so used to accounting for Cap that he forgot about it. "Somebody's going to have to go solo or there's gonna be a group of three," he said, settling back. He already knew which he preferred.

"One of you is going to accompany the captain at Omaha Beach," Colonel Phillips corrected.

"It needs to be in pairs," Agent Carter explained, "More will get you caught, less will be too dangerous even for you." She gave Tony a look that dared him to protest.

He did anyways. "I think we've proved that we defy the meaning of the word impossible," Tony said with a raised eyebrow. He folded his arms over his chest, set on his course of action.

"Thank you for volunteering to accompany Captain Rogers, Starosta. Now that we have that settled, you can report to General Montgomery and we'll plan our part of this mess," the Colonel told him with a biting smile. He wasn't putting up with any of Tony's bullshit today.

This result actually worked with him. "I'd rather save Cap's stupid ass anyways. Have fun with your super secret girl scout meeting," he said cheerfully and gave a cute little wave as he swayed out the door, sure to wiggle his hips as he walked.

Before he could close the door, he heard Jim sigh. "Something's wrong with him."

Tony giggled. It was time to report for the most dangerous part of the battle for the Western Front.

* * *

To put it nicely Steve was displeased when he heard that the man he loved would be accompanying him into the line of fire. "What are you going to do, Tony? This isn't 'get in and get out' and they're prepared for us," he said as they were loaded onto the transports.

"What I do best: keep your fine ass from getting shot," Tony responded lightly.

In front of them, a guy snickered. He was ignored.

"I have the shield," Steve argued, hefting it for emphasis.

"And you usually throw it as a weapon, meaning that it's not much defensive use," Tony countered.

"By the time I can use it that way, I'll be out of the line of fire," Steve said sourly, "You don't have that kind of protection." The vibranium disc that he had grown so fond of was only big enough to cover one of them. To end this battle quicker and keep more people from getting injured, it had to be him.

The smile that Tony gave him was fond as he rubbed at his chest. "I can handle whatever they throw at me," he assured the blonde. He made a motion to take the other man's hand, but they were still shuffling up the gangway. Instead he patted the other man's lower back.

It would have to be enough. Steve nodded, still unhappy.

They were some of the last onto the ship, meaning that they would be some of the first off. Once across the Channel they were going to get unloaded onto landing crafts and storm the beach codenamed Omaha. It sounded like a plan, to Steve.

From the look on Tony's face, it wouldn't be nearly as easy as anyone thought. He gazed sullenly down at the water as the walkway was detached in preparation for take-off. Not once had his 'precognition' been wrong, but Steve hoped that it was this time.

"Think the guys are alright?" he asked, instead of worrying about their chances. They were the ones making the head-on assault, but the Commandos had no safety or any way of pulling back if it came to that.

"Those idiots? They're fine," Tony said dismissively, "I just hope they get to our spot as soon as they can." He waved a hand flippantly, not even trying to be serious.

It was a relief. Just enough for Steve to take advantage of them pulling out of port and offer a gloved hand under the cover of his shield. The deck around them was too crowded for the motion to be seen.

A warm hand took his, and squeezed tightly before withdrawing again. "So, got any plans for when we get back to England?" Tony asked unconcernedly.

Steve ignored the incredulous looks they got for their casual conversation. "Pretty sure the guys are going to drag us out to the pub to find some beer and women," he said with a fond roll of his eyes. It was to be expected by now.

"What about you? Planning on going dancing?" Tony teased. His eyes glinted in the light cast by the rising sun, barely enough to skim off the water.

"Nah, I don't know how," Steve admitted.

Tony wasn't surprised, but there wasn't any pity on his face either as he leaned on the railing. "It can be fun if you have the right partner," he said with a tight smile.

"I think I've found the right partner," Steve said, returning the smile longingly, "I'm just not allowed."

"We will," Tony told him, as seriously as any other prediction, "You might not be sure it's me and I might not know it's you, but I _will_ teach you how to dance." It was a beautiful, if unlikely idea.

There was no way two men could dance together in public like that, holding each other close as they swayed and turned with the music. If there was… He could almost feel the tempting warmth of Tony's smaller frame in front of him, smell the hot metal and cloves and a smoky pub.

But there was no use in daydreaming right now. They had a mission.

It was too quiet as they lowered themselves into a landing craft. Even the lap of the waves was subdued, and Steve got a bad feeling. Anytime it was this quiet right before a major battle, it heralded a mess.

His assessment wasn't wrong. The moment they landed they were swept up in a hail of gunfire and mortars, the noise deafening as the screams of men already dying. Of that first landing craft only Steve, Tony and four other men made it ashore to some kind of cover.

Most of them took a breather behind the metal obstacles that had been placed in their way, getting up the courage to go out there and get shot at again. Steve and Tony looked across the open space between them, doing the same. They would do it, if only to keep each other safe.

"We'll have to go fast!" Steve shouted. There was no other way to get to any area with cover but praying that their speed would let them pass through unscathed.

"Only if we can go slow next time!" Tony called back with a wink. Of course he turned it into a joke, that was how he handled everything.

Didn't mean it wasn't annoying. Steve rolled his eyes and counted down. "Three, two, one!" On one he turned and began running, shield held protectively in front of him to ward off the bullets. Hopefully it was enough of a distraction for everyone else to get through with better luck. It was one of the reasons he had his shield painted with what amounted to a giant bull's-eye; so that he would be the target everyone tried to kill.

From the sounds of the crowd behind him, all rushing up, it was working.

The invasion of Omaha Beach had begun.

* * *

Tony hated that he couldn't find it in himself to get out of bed. It wasn't that he was lazy, or stubborn or too comfortable to bother. Those were very rarely issues. No, he just _couldn't._

If he got out of bed, he was sure that he would find himself back on that beach with blood and sand flying everywhere, iron and sea water and dirt heavy in his nose as bodies fell around him. Abruptly he was reminded of when a vet had half-joked at a party that Omaha Beach wasn't meant for mortal men. That was the unembellished truth, he knew it now.

The Commandos were worried, he knew it. Tony just couldn't get out of bed. He couldn't leave the safety of his covers, the warmth that proved that he wasn't on that damn beach anymore, or in those fields or between hedgerows. He didn't want to go back to the hell that was open war and not knowing whether he would live five seconds longer.

May Thor strike him dead where he stood if he ever again disrespected a veteran.

But more than that, everything was flashing before Tony's eyes and making him hyperventilate and tear up and shake like an earthquake. Everything. He was in what may as well have been a foreign country with no exit visa, he could be thrown in prison for loving the wrong person, he could irrevocably screw up time with a wrong word or gesture. The arc reactor could be discovered at the wrong time, by the wrong people. He could be stuck here forever. He wouldn't live long enough for that, it was set in stone upon those damned innocuous pieces of paper he had dug through a lifetime ago. It was sheer hell and it had all hit him at once.

He missed 2014 more than he could say, so much that it weighed more in his chest than his arc reactor ever had. If the world was kind he would go to sleep and wake up to Thor burning that stupid symbol on his balcony with the Bifrost again and Bruce falling asleep in his cereal and Clint snickering because he drew dicks on Tony's sleeping face while Nat watched impassively from behind a comically over-sized mug of coffee. Then Steve would come in the door, sweaty and rosy from the gym and sigh because _how the hell did this become his life_ , and make breakfast because he wasn't ready to deal with any of this just yet.

Life wasn't that kind. Bucky slipping in the door with a tray proved it.

Tony buried himself under his covers again and moaned for his friend to, "Go to hell and take that stupid shit you know I won't eat with you." He had been an unholy terror for the past two days.

"You need to eat. Steve's worried about you," Bucky said, ignoring the litany of swear words aimed at him and his mother.

"Of course he is, he's Steve," Tony agreed dryly. It would be strange if he wasn't concerned.

From the snort that Bucky gave, he agreed. "Seriously though, we all are. Was the beach really that bad?" he asked, his own worry shining through. Regardless of how unwelcome he was he sat on the edge of the bed and set the tray on a side table.

It came back in scraps. "We waded in and everybody started dying. Only me and Steve and four other guys even made it to the low tide obstacles." Explosions were everywhere, men dropped as they ran. "If it weren't for the thing in my chest I'd be dead." Deader than usual: he'd been hit four times straight in the middle of the chest. The arc reactor was barely even scratched, he'd checked it the second he had some privacy. "I could hear the screams of the dying and more and more just kept coming, kept getting mowed down as soon as they got onto the sand or drowning under their gear 'cause they got dropped too soon." He turned haunted eyes on his friend, everything else hidden under his blankets.

Thankfully Bucky didn't try saying anything. Instead he burrowed under the covers too, offered a comforting presence.

It was enough for most of Tony's other worries to come spilling out. He had never possessed much of a brain to mouth filter, but he kept enough of one to not say anything about being from the future. All the worries he had, from Steve being a half suicidal son of a gun to whether he was turning into the very thing he fought, went from his mouth to Bucky's ears. By the end of it, he actually felt a little better.

"Why are you doing any of this?" Bucky questioned the moment his friend wound down.

"Because I have to. I said I'd do it, so I'll do it. I don't want to be separated from Steve or you. I don't have anywhere else to go." Tony couldn't decide which of those reasons was the most pressing.

"Are there things you won't do?" Bucky continued.

"Yes." The answer was immediate, out of Tony's mouth faster than his brain could move. There weren't many lines, but those he did have, he refused to cross no matter who asked.

Bucky gave him a barely-visible smile. "Then you're fine. I know you better than that. You're not a monster, no matter what you think," he said, gripping the other man's shoulder for a quick moment, "Now, you hungry?"

The emotional upheaval of the day so far guaranteed it. "What's on the menu this morning?" Tony asked sarcastically.

"Only the best this shithole has to offer," Bucky said with a bark of laughter. He threw the covers off of them and pulled the tray over, presenting it proudly. He looked like he just won the Olympics.

On the tray was a soggy omelet (probably made with reconstituted egg) with a shit-ton of mushrooms, two pieces of sparsely buttered toast, a ball of terrifyingly thick oatmeal, a bruised peach, a wrinkled sausage, and some watery baked beans. The glass of milk and cup of coffee looked slightly more palatable. Honestly, Tony had come to prefer the MRE's, even of this time. He took it anyways. "You didn't cook this, did you?" he asked warily.

"Hell no. They wouldn't let me into the kitchens if I asked," Bucky answered, affronted.

With a shrug, Tony dug in. He probably would have even if Bucky had made it, just gone to the medical tent to be treated for food poisoning later. He might have to anyways, he thought as he struggled with the oatmeal that just didn't want to leave the goddamned tray.

"That Winter Soldier tried taking another shot at me," Bucky grimaced as he sat on the edge of the bed. His face was pale, rings under his eyes deep, as he sighed.

"What happened?" Tony asked around the sausage. He and Steve had both been on the beach, so who saved their friend?

Bucky shrugged. "I shot back. Got him in the leg, but he still disappeared too fast for me and Dum Dum to catch," he relayed, obviously disappointed.

Instead of replying, Tony let out a laugh through a mouthful of peach. What else had he expected?

It was only when the tray was nearly empty that the door burst open. "Don't eat it!" Steve shouted, only to stare in horror at what food was left: a piece of toast and the milk.

"What's wrong with it? What did you convince me to eat?" Tony demanded of Bucky, but without heat. If he got the runs from this, he would kill the man.

"I don't know!" Bucky protested, staring wide eyed at the tray and then his friends.

"Somebody put something in food and now everyone is hallucinating," Steve reported grimly, "We need to get you to medical." He came in the door and offered a hand to help his boyfriend up.

Tony stood up under his own power and kept his balance just fine. "Looks like we need to get to the kitchens to see what happened," he declared. No way in hell was he going to medical, they would insist on running the full battery of tests and that would lead to them seeing the arc reactor.

"You need to go to medical," Steve corrected him gently, dropping his hand in favor of moving to the side of the doorway.

"Shit, I feel fine," Tony said, waving a flippant hand. He really did. Whatever happened, his system was taking care of it just fine.

"Me too," Bucky volunteered. His eyes were clear and focused as he frowned at the other men.

Though Steve looked doubtful, he allowed them out the door. "The second you start feeling badly, tell me and I'll take you straight to medical," he ordered. This was in his non-negotiable, Captain America voice, so they knew not to disagree.

Instead they waded out into chaos. The hallways around the sleeping quarters were mostly uninhabited, aside of some vomiting from the bathrooms, but the second they got into the common areas it was like walking right back onto a battlefield. Well, half the room was. The other half was giggling and chasing things that only they could see, poking at each other, or running screaming away from whatever they were hallucinating.

"Well this narrows down the suspects," Tony said, half amused as he watched his dad stumble over and pet Steve happily on the face. He was never going to let the old man live this down.

"We need to stop the fights. The happy ones, we can leave where they are for now," Steve said, batting away Howard's searching hands, "Tony, can you get the emergency manual out of the cabinet? It should say something in there about if the whole base is out of commission." He eventually resorted to trapping the inventor's hands and standing as far away from the man as possible to keep him from rubbing against him like a cat.

Bucky didn't even try to resist the urge to punch Phillips in the face when the man came skipping by, chasing something. The satisfaction on his face as he wrung out his hand was actually really funny. "I wanted to do that for the past year," he announced, stepping over the Colonel's unconscious body in favor of stopping the biggest fist fight in the room.

Meanwhile, Tony flipped through the manual only to find that the single option they had left was calling up the regular army. With a sigh he picked up the phone, leaning against the wall to watch the chaos around him.

"This is the British Army Medical Headquarters in London, how may I help you?" asked a nice female voice.

"I'm Anthony Starosta of the Howling Commandos. We've got a situation at SSR HQ. Something got slipped into the breakfast menu and now nearly everybody is hallucinating," he said conversationally. It took everything he had not to cackle like a madman as Bucky got kneed by a wild-eyed Peggy.

"Alright, I'll inform the doctors. How many people are affected?" the woman asked professionally.

"However many people are in the SSR, minus three. About a third of them are violent, another third are currently harmless, and the rest seem to be out cold or puking their guts up," Tony estimated. He snickered when Monty swaggered up and appeared to be sweet-talking Howard and Steve at the same time.

"We'll gather up the doctors and nurses and have them en route as soon as possible. Can you tell me who the other two are who are unaffected? Are they able to assist the medical personnel?" the woman asked.

"Steven Rogers and James Barnes, also Howling Commandos. And if neither of them get punched out or forcibly undressed by the time you get here, they can definitely help," Tony answered promptly. He twirled the phone cord around his finger idly as he watched his honorary aunt kick his best friend's ass.

"Is anyone in the chain of command available?" the woman asked.

Tony took a look around and saw them fighting, passed out under tables or humping the Colonel's unconscious body. "Nope," he chirped.

"What symptoms are you seeing in those affected?" the woman asked after a short pause.

"Hallucinations and stomach upset, mostly. I'm also seeing some anxiety and panic, some utter happiness, and, uh," Tony said awkwardly, before he had to bark at his dad, "No, Howard, Steve wants to keep his clothes on!" Turning back to the phone, he added, "Some amorous intentions. Basically some of them are having a really good drug trip and some are having a really bad- oh damn." It just struck him as he recounted what he had just said, and watched Jim hiss at anyone who came near his chair.

"Yes, Mr Starosta?" the woman prompted.

"The symptoms match up with psychedelic mushrooms," Tony said, not entirely sure if he believed it himself. But it all added up, and that omelet did have a shit-ton of mushrooms in it. Until other evidence came up, that was what he was going with.

There was another pause on the phone. "Alright, thank you Mr Starosta. There don't happen to be any weapons available to the affected, are there?" the woman asked hesitantly.

When Tony looked again, he was relieved. There wasn't a gun or knife in sight, aside of the butter knives from breakfast. "No purpose-made weapons are in the room, but this is a special division and they can probably kill someone with a coffee cup," he said, grimacing when he saw Howard wrap himself around Steve like an octopus. That's it, the second he was off the phone he had every intention of locking his father in a closet somewhere far away from his boyfriend.

"Noted. The doctors should be there momentarily," the woman reassured him. She deserved a gold star for being calm in the face of such ridiculousness.

"I need to go before somebody rapes Captain America. Get them here asap," Tony said, and hung up before the woman could protest. Instead he marched over to where Steve had managed to half-unwind himself, and tapped Howard on the shoulder.

The man looked at him and his face spread into a wide grin. He tearfully launched himself at Tony, crowing, "I always knew my kid would be a genius!"

Tony froze up for a moment, blindsided for the sudden cuddly affection. "Err, Howard? Come on, let's get you to bed," he said with false calm, and half-carried his father out of the room. Listening to the man blab on and on about how proud he was and how much he couldn't wait to meet him hurt and made a bubble of happiness well up in his chest at the same time.

At the first empty bedroom he could find, Tony shoved Howard in and allowed a single-minded Monty in after him. The moment they were both inside, he closed the door and prayed that they would be too dumb (or busy) to figure out how to work a doorknob. Well, right now anyways.

"Thanks. Now let's help Bucky," Steve said, visibly wilting at the very thought of facing down an angry, drugged up Peggy.

"You get him out of there, I'll handle her," Tony agreed. He fingered the handcuffs that he had lifted off a giggly MP on the way back in.

Fifteen minutes later the Army Medical Corps walked in to find that half the building had either been locked into closets or bedrooms, or was happy to go along with anything they said. Tony, Steve and Bucky were in less than ideal shape, sore and hungry, but assisted them as best they could. Especially with the difficult cases, like Peggy. Who knew that it would take Captain America to restrain her?

By noon the entire base was empty, all evacuated to a hospital on the edge of London.

Tony let out a groan as he laid back in one of the beds of the room that he, Steve and Bucky had to share. It was awfully crowded, the SSR having taken up most of the hospital. Not to the point that there were people laying in the hall, but still.

"That was a mess," Bucky agreed, flopped down on the other bed. He was face down, barely audible where he spoke into the sheets.

"What _happened_ to them?" Steve asked, bewildered, as he sat at the head of the bed he was sharing with Tony.

"It looked like a certain kind of mushrooms," Tony answered, wanting nothing more than to go back to bed despite it being the middle of the afternoon. He knew it was a bad idea to get up today. No matter how much blackmail material he had gathered.

It was probably accidental, they decided quickly, though they wouldn't put it past a disgruntled cook to do it on purpose. Nobody had died or gotten seriously injured and that was what mattered. Bucky came the closest, with two cracked ribs where Peggy had kicked him.

"How you not… go nuts?" Steve asked quietly as they all began to drift off in the quiet heat.

"Eh, I picked the mushrooms out. They were all soggy," Bucky said with a flop of his hand. It was a lie and Tony knew it, the man loved mushrooms. He'd never sacrifice any, no matter if their texture left a lot to be desired.

Steve looked over to his boyfriend and Tony resigned himself to telling the truth. Hopefully. "With the amount of drugs I used to take? Please. I used to party with the stars," he snorted.

The horror on Steve's face almost made him regret saying so. "Then how did you stop?" the blonde asked. He looked like he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"I had a burger so bad it made me rethink my whole life," Tony said, chuckling as he remembered staring down at that wrapper and realizing that this was complete bullshit, "I threw it all into the ocean and sobered up that night." Not counting the alcohol, because he was far too fond of his drinking problem to give it up. Just the drugs went.

This time when he looked up at Steve, there was a smile on the man's face. "I don't know how a burger of all things would bring it on, but I'm glad you made that decision," Cap said, sliding a large hand into the dark hair.

"Me too," Tony mumbled. He curled into his boyfriend's side, wrapped his arms around that nearly impossible waist, and fell asleep again. This time there were no nightmares.

He credited Steve for that.

* * *

Things only picked up from there. Tony and Bucky still ran assassination missions, and still succeeded in every single one. The Commandos kept destroying HYDRA bases, interrupting supply lines, and generally being gremlins in a toy store.

The Winter Soldier kept taking pot shots at his previous self, but Tony or Steve were always there to block it. Sometimes they could chase him off and sometimes they could do nothing more than get to cover until reinforcements arrived. Bucky obviously hated being the one to need defending, was realistic about his chances; he complained but didn't protest.

They were out on a mission in Poland when Steve's 26th birthday came around; their mission accidentally freed a village, and the Commandos convinced him to stay the night. A huge party had been put on, celebrating their relative freedom, with plenty of beer and dancing like Tony barely believed.

Automatically his feet began moving, remembering the steps that his mother had taught him so many years ago. It was just too bad that he couldn't dance with the one he really wanted. So instead he took the hand of a pretty woman who reminded him a little of Pepper (dear gods, he missed her) and danced the night away.

When she made it clear that she expected something at the end of the night however, he gave her a kiss on her cheek and slurred in Polish about being too drunk to get it up. Thank goodness the woman simply smiled kindly, if disappointedly, and allowed him to stumble off to where the Commandos were crashing for the night. He didn't feel guilty at all, as he crawled in next to Steve.

"Tony?" the blond asked, waking up when the mattress squeaked.

"Yeah," Tony whispered. He laid on his side, watching the handsome face on the other side of the mattress slowly come to.

"Did you just get in?" Steve asked, eyes going to the piece of the floor that Bucky had claimed as his own. Last Tony saw, he had been lured into the home of a pretty little blonde that reminded him of Steve before the Serum, not that he would ever say so.

Tony made an affirmative noise, and instead of speaking laid a kiss on those pretty pink lips in front of him. Steve was seriously too tempting for his own good.

Slowly the other man kissed him back, sighing into his mouth with pleasure when a skilled tongue licked at the seam of his lips. It was a hard thing to not press Steve into the mattress and have his filthy way with him right then.

When they paused to breathe, Tony so proud that he managed to drive _the_ super soldier breathless, a question made his heart speed up. "What's that thing in your chest?"

"It's called a heart. Or were you asking about the lungs or aorta?" Tony answered sarcastically even as his brain scrambled for an answer to tell him.

The snort he got for it almost made him smile. "You know what I mean. This… metal? thing sticking out," Steve clarified. He put a big hand over the metal in his lover's chest, holding the most vulnerable part of him without even knowing it.

Somehow the panic didn't come. Maybe because this was Captain America or maybe because it was Steve; probably because Tony was stupidly in love with him. Instead of his usual response (knock the hand away, tell them to get the hell out of his home, then crawl into the bathroom to have a panic attack) he cradled Steve's warm palm closer against his constantly cold chest. "It's more than my life's worth to tell you that," he said, honest if not totally truthful.

"One of those things?" Steve asked sadly.

"Yeah," Tony replied, wishing that he could tell him. There was Bucky, but it wasn't the same. He hated not being able to tell the truth to the one he cared about most, hated that he had to preserve the timeline, loathed the metal in his chest almost as much as he loved the man in front of him.

There was a moment of silence, but it was busy and tense with thought. Even in the dim light, Tony was able to see perfectly how his boyfriend's brow furrowed and he nibbled on his lips. No fair, he wanted to do that.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to tell me about those things?" Steve asked hesitantly.

If only he knew the answer. "I won't know until I do," Tony shrugged, "But nothing stays secret forever, even if it should. Sometimes people forget. Sometimes things don't happen in the right order. I think the real question is how long you'd be willing to wait for your answers."

The answer only took a few minutes for Steve to come up with. "After the war."

That was fair even though it wasn't. Neither of them would make it that long. Kissing him to cover up the sudden fear and melancholy over that thought, Tony nodded. "After the war I'll tell you everything I can," he promised.

He remembered answering all the strange questions he could that Steve asked him in the 2010's. They made a whole lot more sense since he got here. It was just a pity that he didn't think he'd ever be able to answer them all.

"C'mon, let's get some sleep while we can," Tony prompted with a disappointed sigh. It was a real pain to keep himself from trying to get into Steve's pants, between the glowing metal issue in his chest and the other man's prudery. Err, morals. Not that they ever had the time or privacy for anything to happen anyways.

It was a quick thing to rearrange themselves, Steve curled protectively around Tony on the small mattress. The man from the future was sure his heart tried beating out of his chest when a large hand cupped his arc reactor protectively. Even without knowing what it was or what it did, Cap seemed to understand that it was important. Fragile.

"Shhh… Sleep. You're safe," Steve murmured comfortingly in his ear.

Tony clutched the other man's hand to his chest. That hand was safe, it would protect his mechanical heart and not rip it out; he knew it instinctively. It was enough to help him fall asleep.

That was when the Commandos started covering for the two of them. About Tony, they would joke and say that he would chase anything in a skirt that didn't say no. Steve, they more seriously took as being too dedicated to the cause, pure and ridiculously shy to have anything to do with anyone's bits. Bucky especially got into it, telling cheerfully about the mission in Switzerland where Tony had to hide behind a furiously blushing Steve from a mob of ladies he had flirted with earlier.

They all knew the truth though. Even if some of them didn't approve. Though that seemed to all be from the thought that Tony would ever had the balls (and lack of sense) to cheat on Steve with his best friend. Even if it was a reaction to a kind of trauma that (thank everything science-y) didn't happen. The thing was, that it was better than anyone knowing the truth. So he let them keep thinking it.

That probably wasn't helped when Bucky dragged him into a closet aboard the ship that was going to take them back to London. "Whoa tiger, I know you're hungry for this-" Tony was cut off by the sheer terror in Bucky's face. "What's up?"

"Are we even human anymore?" the other man asked desperately, "Don't you feel something… off? Different? and not in a good way, inside of you somewhere?" It was breaking him apart on the inside, Tony could see that clearly.

Truthfully, he had felt that same thing since they got out of that goddamned lab. The energy that he had gained during their escape hadn't faded, his already single-minded focus had only grown greater. Speed that had never been inconsiderable got more so, strength and dexterity taken to extremes. It made his skin crawl to think that maybe he had been-

Oh who was he kidding, they had tested an experimental super soldier serum on him just like they had on Bucky. It was obvious.

Luckily no one else had noticed yet. They hadn't known each other well before Azzano and even their time there couldn't be used as a measure because of the conditions they had been stuck under. So when Bucky and Tony had been able to keep a steel beam as thick as their combined waists from flattening the other Commandos, no one thought it was out of the ordinary. At the time, Tony had been happy to play it off as adrenaline.

He told himself that his sudden increase in speed and endurance was from the amount of exercise that he had to do. That his suddenly perfect recall evolving from an eidetic memory was out of necessity. His immunity to the shrooms was from all his years of hard drugs. It was bullshit and he knew it; he had just been running away from what was new and scary.

Now, with Bucky demanding answers almost hysterically, he realized that he had to face it. "The stuff that Zola did to us was a bastardized version of the Super Soldier Serum that we used on Steve. I'm not sure what that says." Tony almost regretted the words when Bucky collapsed onto the floor.

"Super soldier," Bucky repeated numbly.

Tony slid down the wall to sit beside him. "Yeah. Just like Steve," he said. It was ironic that for most of his life he had wanted to be like Captain America and now that he was, he wished it had happened any other way. The wounds were long healed, but he still felt the scalpels and needles tearing into him and the chemicals burning him from the inside.

It was a moment before Bucky spoke, and when he did it was with the determination Tony had come to expect from him. "Then we're still human where it counts," he said firmly.

"Speak for yourself," Tony countered dryly.

When Frenchie opened the closet, they were laughing. If it was a little hysterical, he didn't say anything about it.


	13. The Time Warp

Thank you so very much to **tigerlilly** and **Flint247** for your reviews! They made my day when they posted.

This is one of the first actual action scenes I've written, so please let me know how it did. Constructive criticism is welcome, flames will be used to defrost Cap again.

Admittedly this first scene is inspired by **These Things We've Done** by **Goody-Goodie**. I suppose you can think of this as a love-letter to it, because I adore that story. If you want a better version of the capture scene, it's right there.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 12: The Time Warp**

" _I'll be your Dostoevsky, if you'll be my Tolstoy. Our life together will be so full of despair that death will be like a gulag full of joy."_

― _Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not FOR SALE_

In Greece, Tony's hard work very nearly fall apart. They were captured by HYDRA in a way that Tony quite frankly didn't understand; he had been knocked out halfway through the fight, hit hard enough on the head to make his teeth rattle. When he woke up, he felt every single pound of force put into it.

Groaning, Tony curled into whatever beside his head was firm and warm. "All of the hangover, none of the fun," he grumbled under his breath.

Whatever it was moved and a laugh that was far too loud for being so quiet resounded. "Getting too old for this shit?" teased Bucky.

"Damn right I am," Tony mumbled. He finally decided that it was time to open his eyes and sighed with relief when their surroundings were dim. The air was cool and stale with a tang of sweat. The place smelled an awful lot like Azzano even though they looked nothing alike.

No, these cells were surrounded by concrete on three sides and had all the amenities of a modern prison cell. Right down to the steel toilet in the corner. Tony was laying on one of the bunks, Bucky leaning on the wall and pillowing his head with a muscular thigh. They were alone.

"Where are the others?" Tony asked, vaguely alarmed.

From across the hall, Steve's voice answered. "Tony? Are you awake?" He sounded hopeful and worried at once, so familiar.

"Yeah, yeah. Where are we?" Tony replied. Sitting up made him want to puke with how dizzy he got. Whoever hit him must have been a star ball player before this, if his version of the Serum still hadn't healed this.

"Somewhere still in Greece, maybe Romania. You were out for a while," Steve answered, relieved.

"We thought they'd killed you when you didn't wake up after a few hours," called Jim from a little further away, "Glad you're okay."

When he looked over for confirmation, Bucky nodded. He gently laid a finger on Tony's skull, right behind his ear, and it came away with some clotted blood attached.

Tony squeezed his eyes closed with a groan. "What did they hit me with, a fucking Sherman? I healed up faster when I got shot in the ass," he complained.

"Flamethrower barrel," Bucky helpfully provided.

Before much more jabbering could get done, a bastard in a greatcoat came with two lackeys and stopped in front of Steve's cell. The words ran together in Tony's muddled mind, he was too busy trying not to be sick to pay much attention. He did notice when Bucky leaped off the bed and slammed into the bars.

"Leave him alone, you sick son of a bitch," Bucky hissed dangerously.

The HYDRA man turned to look over his shoulder curiously. "And who would this brave one be?" he asked lightly.

"None of your business," Tony groaned. He wobbled to his feet in order to stand beside Bucky, still holding his head. He was sure that weird burning feeling was his skull knitting itself back together.

For a moment the HYDRA man, who looked like a drowned rat, surveyed them. "Take him to the lab," he ordered mildly, pointing at Tony.

The man from the future felt his heart speed up exponentially. There was a trickle of liquid down the back of his neck, warm and metallic. The sudden rise in blood pressure must have broken open his scabs.

"Don't take him," Bucky told them, body blocking the goons from his friend, "My name's James Buchanan Barnes." As an afterthought he added, "And I'm your worst nightmare." He didn't sound very convincing.

The lackeys shoved Bucky aside and took Tony's arms in bruising grips. The sudden rough touch and sensation of being dragged unwillingly away combined with everything else to give him the unique sensation that accompanied vomiting or passing out. Black spots hovered in front of Tony's eyes and he thanked his lucky stars that unconsciousness seemed to be on the menu.

"Tony!" The Commandos and Steve all made a racket, swearing and threatening that if they don't give him back right then-

As if from a distance, he heard the HYDRA leader made a delighted noise. Tony couldn't see the man anymore, he was too far down the hall for that, but he couldn't help imagining the man rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "One of Doctor Zola's missing test subjects! That must mean that the other is Anthony Starosta. My oh my, he will be grateful to see you again."

The mere thought was enough to do what everything else hadn't: Tony vomited. He didn't even care that it went down his front, or that it was over sooner than he would have thought. Maybe if he was lucky, he would bleed out from his head injury before they got him to the table.

Behind him Bucky struggled with the guards, and from their grunts of effort was causing them a great deal of trouble. A gunshot and a howl of pain resulted in it stopping.

Tony looked over his shoulder and grinned, didn't care that there were probably chunks of half digested potato in his teeth. "Come on over and see my trench spike," he told Bucky with a flirtatious wink that he really didn't feel. As much as he hated to say it, this was his last stand, last moment, and last chance to screw up history.

The sudden whiteness on Bucky's face was enough signal that he got the message. The nod was a mere confirmation. "The minute I can 'come' I will," he replied through gritted teeth.

Now Tony could only hope that it happened before HYDRA was able to study his arc reactor too closely.

He was strapped to a table in a sick parody of last time he was in HYDRA's custody. This time he was too hurt and exhausted to struggle rather than choosing not to. It led to a doctor clucking his tongue as he inspected Tony's head, pronouncing it a miracle that he survived this long with a broken skull- no matter how fast he was healing. Which was in itself something to note down for Doctor Zola.

Thank everything holy that they decided to postpone the 'prescribed' tests in favor of seeing his healing rate. It left him time to gather his wits and figure out a plan of escape.

The moment the burning feeling in his head was more like sparks off a welding torch than the flame of one, Tony began pulling at his restraints as hard as he could. He hadn't been this injured since getting to 1943 but he had the feeling he was mostly healed up. At least right now, that wasn't good.

The doctors must have noticed him struggling, because they came over to inspect his head again. It didn't faze them when he turned his head to try biting their fingers, one just held him in place while the other poked at the base of his skull. It only slightly stung. "Remarkable," whispered the woman prodding at his injury, "The wound is already closed and scarred. There is no sign of breakage. Tests will commence."

At her last words, Tony began struggling even more wildly. Oh hell no, they were not going to give him a vivisection or whatever the hell they had planned! The leather straps around his limbs began ripping.

Alarmed, the woman reached behind her and grabbed a needle filled with clear liquid. "Relax, soldier," she instructed sternly as she tapped the glass to get the bubbles out.

Tony didn't listen. "Fuck you, do _not_ touch me with that shit!" he shouted, squirming as far away as he could. The restraints ripped some more, but he already knew it wouldn't be enough.

The female doctor jabbed him in the neck with the needle she held.

Immediately Tony felt heavy and black ringed his vision. He was losing consciousness too fast, they could do anything to him… find the arc reactor. Shit, he hoped Bucky could get here in time.

* * *

It had been hours since Tony and Bucky were taken and Steve decided that Frenchie needed to carry lockpicking tools in less obvious places than his pockets. Maybe in his boots or hat. HYDRA had cleaned them out of anything that could be used to escape.

"Hey, Frenchie," Jim called from the cell he shared with Gabe, "Can you use these?" His outstretched hand held two bobby pins.

From beside Steve, the Frenchman gave a quiet exclamation of delight. "Oui!" That was one of the most welcome words in any language, right now.

"Why do you have hair pins? You don't even have hair!" Gabe asked with a snort. Pot, meet kettle.

There was a crackling noise and the intercom system came on. "As a welcome to the Americans currently rotting in our cells, and a reward for the good workers of HYDRA, a treat will be played," said the rat-faced man over the system. Probably some kind of propaganda.

Instead a woman's voice spoke. She detailed her name (Doctor K. Schwartz) the date, time, and facility before saying, "The subject is Lieutenant Anthony Starosta. He was brought in with a broken skull, bruised face and swelling of the brain. Four hours later, all is healed. The treatments prescribed by Doctor Zola will be administered in three, two, one, now."

Steve gestured for Frenchie to hurry up. Who knows what they were doing to Tony and Bucky?

The other man nodded and began working even more furiously at the lock of Monty and Dum Dum's cell. He almost dropped his tools when screams burst from the intercom. It was Tony.

Furious, Steve twisted his hands around the bars and wished they were the scientists' necks.

The screaming died out and instead was replaced by harsh panting. "That… all you got?" Tony challenged, voice rough. Idiot, Steve thought with fond exasperation.

"Subject has stayed awake and defiant through the treatment. Second stage initiated," the woman reported clinically.

If Steve could grind his teeth together any harder, they surely would have broken. "Dum Dum, Jim, find some explosives and a ride. Blow everything to hell in half an hour," he ordered as Frenchie worked the lock to his cell, "Gabe, Monty, get our weapons then join them. Frenchie, you're with me." He was pleased to see them scatter to the winds.

Tony's next scream seemed even louder than the first. Did they turn the volume up?

"Subject has a metal device attached to his sternum. We do not know what it does, or what will happen if it is removed. While the procedure is taking place, we will leave it alone," the woman stated over the shrieks.

Steve sighed with relief. He knew no more than HYDRA, but that whatever-it-was needed to stay exactly where it was. Something bad would happen if it were removed, he was sure.

Gabe was back with Steve's shield and pistol, and Frenchie's multiple guns, knife and tools by the time their last cell was unlocked. "There was also this, but I don't know what it is," he said, holding up a burlap hessian sack. Tony had been carrying it the whole mission.

"Take it with you. We'll give it back to Tony later," Steve ordered, stepping into the hall.

With a salute, Gabe took off with the sack bouncing off his shoulder.

For a moment, Steve stood there trying to figure out how to find his man and his best friend. Then he noticed the blood from where Bucky had been shot in the knee. Hopefully nobody had cleaned up the rest.

Something must have happened in the lab, because Tony could be heard swearing. "Oh shit, oh fuck, dear fucking gods no, don't you fucking dare-" His voice was like nails on a chalkboard when he shrieked, "KILL ME! JUST FUCKING KILL ME ALREADY!"

When Steve looked over to point out the trail on the floor to Frenchie, he saw the man gag. He didn't notice the blood until a moment later.

They jogged up the path, sounds of torture ringing in their ears. Gunfire was added to the mix, HYDRA pinning them behind a corner with a spray of bullets. Steve's side burned as one scraped him.

Frenchie took the initiative and leaned out to fire back.

"Third injection being administered," the woman said over the intercom.

The sudden silence was more hair-raising than the shrieks of agony.

Two of the HYDRA goons fell to Frenchie's machine gun.

"Remarkable. The subject was not told what the injection would do, but is completely docile. Sing, soldier," the woman instructed.

"Who's strong and brave, here to save the American way? Who vows to fight for what's right, night and day? Who will campaign door-to-door for America, carry the flag shore-to-shore for Ame-" Tony began singing tonelessly. It was nothing like his usual busy, happy humming.

"Sing something else," a man snapped at Tony.

It was impossible to keep from smirking as another HYDRA henchman. Trust Tony to find a way to irritate his tormentors even now. And somewhere in there, he was thinking about Steve; he knew he'd be rescued.

Tony obeyed without question. It made Steve's skin crawl. "We're men… We're men in tights. We roam around the forest looking for fights. We're men… We're men in tights. We rob from the rich and give to the poor, that's right!" he sang nonsensically. Robin Hood?

Steve leaned out and shot the last gunman with his pistol. "Come on," he said, skidding around the corner along the trail of dried blood. Hopefully they could get to Tony and Bucky before any more damage was done.

"The subject has obeyed our commands," the woman continued, faint surprise in her voice, "Stop, soldier."

Tony cut off in the middle of singing the can-can.

A man murmured something too low for the microphone to catch, but the sounds that followed spoke for themselves: something ripped, the doctors shrieked and then there were loud crashes. A door opened and there were two quieter thumps. Then there was silence over the intercom.

Fear made Steve's heart pound even harder than the adrenaline was already doing. What the hell happened? They needed to get to that lab.

Instead, Tony found them. Bucky was with him.

Something was wrong, Steve realized when they looked toward the firefight going on in his section of the hall but their reaction was all wrong. There was no recognition, no emotion as they moved. All they did was each raise a pistol and fire, Bucky twice.

All three of the HYDRA guards fell. Blood poured from the exit wounds, each placed perfectly in the center of their foreheads.

"Tony, Bucky, thank God," Steve breathed. He grinned with relief and got to his feet, ready to scoop them up and not let them out of his sight for the rest of the mission.

Frenchie tugged at his elbow, keeping him from walking forward. "This is wrong, they are wrong," he said, shaking his head as he watched their friends cautiously.

As if to agree, Bucky raised his pistol and fired straight toward them. The shot sailed wide, between his friends.

Steve watched cautiously and held his shield to cover Frenchie. How did Bucky, one of the best marksmen he knew, miss? They were less than four yards away.

Behind him there was a thump. He looked over his shoulder and saw a HYDRA goon fall to the floor with a hole between the eyepieces of his gas mask. How did Steve not hear him coming?

Without a word Tony, then Bucky, began walking away. Their movements were graceful, purposeful, not an ounce of energy wasted or a sound made as they traversed the hall guns at the ready. On their belts, bloody knives hung and in Tony's left hand a gory scalpel gleamed.

"Tony! Bucky!" Steve called and hurried to catch up to them. When they didn't acknowledge him, he realized that there was no sign of awareness. Just what had happened in that lab?

They came to the factory portion of the base and raised their weapons again. From three stories up, one body fell. Another dropped from a hiding place mostly behind a boiler.

Horrified, Steve grabbed their shoulders and shook them. "Stop, stop it, both of you," he ordered more sharply than he meant to.

It worked. They turned to stare at him with dead eyes, waiting for orders. Steve had seen more life in the survivors of the concentration camp they freed last month. "Guys, snap out of it, we need to go," he told them.

Tony tilted his head to the side in a mockery of his usual questioning mannerisms. He didn't seem to understand. There was an explosion in the distance, and then one closer, but neither he nor Bucky reacted.

"We need to go," Frenchie urged, taking nervous glances at the other Commandos as he watched their backs.

"Tony, Bucky, please. You need to stop it. Come back to us. Whatever they did to you, shake it off," Steve urged. He shook Bucky by the shoulders, hoping to maybe knock some sense back into him.

It worked. With a gasp his best friend's eyes cleared and began darting around. "Wha- what happened? Where am I? What's-" he cut himself off with a noise like a dying seal when he noticed the gun in his bloody hands.

"Good, thank God, you're back," Steve mumbled as he pulled Bucky in for a hug. Right now the still-wet blood all over the other man's front was easy to ignore.

"What?" Bucky squeaked in his ear.

It seemed that Tony got impatient with the lack of orders; he began walking again, pistol held at the ready. Like he was on a mission that got rudely interrupted.

Steve hurried up to his side and turned him forcibly, not that he needed much effort. When his man raised the gun he ignored it; it was pointed perpendicular to them. "Tony!" he called right as the gun went off.

With a shake of his head, Tony came back. It was like he woke up from a nightmare as he took in his surroundings, his pose, and the weapon he held. When something- probably yet another body- crashed onto metal, he looked over and his eyes went wide.

Honestly, Steve couldn't blame him. The pile of scrap metal the body was sliding down was taller than they were, and the only place it could have fallen from was two stories up. Tony hadn't even been looking when he let it off. "You're okay now?" he asked seriously.

A severe shake of the floor was a reminder that they had no time.

"Yeah, enough for now," Tony answered, out of breath.

"Come on lovebirds, we gotta go!" Bucky shouted over the explosions that came ever nearer.

It was the most natural thing in the world to take Tony's hand, dripping with blood, in his own and tug him along as they high-tailed it through the collapsing building. All around them concrete crumbled and steel groaned, unable to support itself any longer. Ceilings fell at their heels and doorways shuddered as they ran.

They were barely fast enough. The gates fell into each other, forming an arch overhead. It was the only thing that kept the rubble from collapsing on top of the lot of them.

Finally, they were out of there.

"What happened? I remember getting electrocuted and then... " Tony shook his head as they walked to where a stolen truck waited for them. He grinned when Dum Dum and Jim stood up, whooping.

More shaky, Bucky simply climbed in the back. "Good to see you," he said roughly.

When Steve and Tony hopped on, Dum Dum gave a signal and Monty began driving.

"Forget the trench spike, by the way," Tony told Bucky with a relieved sigh. It must have been a code phrase. But for what?

Any response the other man would have given was interrupted by the other Commandos. "Barnes, you immortal asshole!" Jim cheered, seizing the other man in a bear hug.

Exhilarated, Bucky went along with it. His grey eyes were haunted. "Everybody made it out okay?" he asked.

"Yep, it was just you four left," Gabe answered before he and Frenchie began babbling happily to each other.

Everyone seemed to know that Tony was off limits for now; they hung back and let Steve keep an arm around his man. "I thought I lost you," Steve whispered.

"You didn't," Tony assured him quietly, squeezing his hand. Louder, he asked, "Now where's my sack?"

Dum Dum tossed the burlap to him. "What the hell is this thing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched his fellow Commando cradle it to his chest.

"You'll see soon enough," Tony answered mysteriously. Something in his eyes said that they didn't want to.

* * *

Two days later, Steve was still ecstatic. There were only two bases left to go, not counting the main one that the SSR couldn't find. The threat of HYDRA was almost over. It wouldn't be long before the war was done with and they could all go home.

Not long before he could ask Tony the question that had been popping into his head since before they even started dating. _Would you stay with me forever?_

Everyone was fine and in good spirits even stuck walking back to Italy because their stolen truck ran out of gas, laughing and joking, Most were making plans for when they got back to London. The scenery was even fantastic, high cliffs and pine-covered slopes full of snow.

Something didn't feel right. They were being watched.

Ever so insightful, Bucky whispered, "I don't think we're alone."

On Steve's other side, Tony went stiff. He clutched at the hessian sack he had been carrying the whole mission. Slowly he turned, eyes scanning the treeline on their left.

A rifle fired.

Steve automatically moved to cover Bucky and himself. The bullet hit his shield and plopped to the ground.

The whole unit froze, bringing up their weapons warily.

Steve made a move to throw the shield, but Tony moved into the line of fire. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," the man called mockingly.

"Tony!" Steve hissed.

He was ignored. "Come on, Old Man Winter, you aren't getting anywhere like this. It's your last shot and you know it," he continued arrogantly. The grip he had on that sack belied his anxiety.

There was no response for several minutes.

"What are you doing?" Bucky questioned, aggravated, "You were the one that said only two people have ever survived a fight with him!"

The concept froze Steve's blood even as he watched the corner of his man's mouth turn upward in a smirk. There was fear in his eyes. "Sometimes you need a little faith," Tony said.

At the edge of the forest, a black shape appeared. It walked closer and closer, more details coming to light as he did so. First was his outline, bulky with muscle. A metal arm gleamed in the sparse light. Then Steve realized that he was wearing some kind of dark goggles and a mask that combined covered most of his face. A long-range rifle was set against his shoulder, three guns (just that he could see) were on his person, and he was sure that he saw about five knives. This man was armed to the teeth and ready to complete his objective at any cost.

On instinct Steve moved a little further over to cover Bucky better. "Why are you here?" he called to the man who Tony had called the Winter Soldier.

"I am here to eliminate my target," the stranger answered in a muffled, gravelly voice. It was somehow familiar.

"Yeah, well good luck with that, Frosty," Tony said, taking several steps forward to meet the man, "This won't work and you know it. All of us are standing in your way and you of all people would know that Bucky's no slouch. So why don't you try going home? Repairing the damage instead of trying to rip apart… everything?" There was so much that did but didn't sound right, it was like Steve was hearing a code that he knew the contents of but didn't understand the phrasing behind.

"I will complete my mission," the Winter Soldier said. That was when he took the first strike.

Tony dropped the sack, which made a metallic thunk. He used one hand to block the hit and the other to try scoring a punch to the solar plexus.

The fight had begun and it was almost a fair one. While the Winter Soldier was stronger and larger, Tony was faster and more flexible. From what he remembered of the single conversation Steve had heard about the stranger, he had experience on his side. On the other hand, Tony was all sneaky tactics and a brain that wouldn't stop working. Whenever one was gaining the upper hand, the other would score a brutal blow or put them off their balance to make things even again.

It was almost beautiful. Even after the knives came out, Tony's k-bar and a knife he had stolen from the Winter Soldier's belt against two wickedly gleaming blades, it looked like a dance. Their movements were graceful, efficient, and mesmerizing.

Despite that, Steve itched to do _something_ besides just stand there. He took a few steps forward, determined to tip the scales in Tony's favor. Help him get out of there alive instead of being one of the Soldier's apparently numerous victims.

The movement was seen by the Winter Soldier and he threw one of his knives at the approaching super-soldier.

Steve brought up his shield.

"This is my fight, Steve," Tony grunted, "Cover Bucky!" He scored a hit to the Winter Soldier's temple, snapping his head to the side.

In exchange the Commando was kicked in the chest. It sent him flying several feet away, but he used the momentum to roll back to his feet. He immediately reengaged, ducking and weaving like he hadn't just gotten the wind knocked out of him.

Though he hated it, Steve took those few steps back. He placed himself between his best friend and the ensuing fight again, just barely letting the other man peek over his shoulder.

"I don't think he's even human," Bucky commented upon seeing the Winter Soldier throw Tony several yards away into the treeline. He was immediately assaulted from behind with one of his own knives.

Steve was brought back to the conversation he had all those months ago with Dum Dum. " _The two of them don't seem quite human anymore. Not that we really thought Tony was in the first place."_

When he really looked, in the wake of the Winter Soldier's abilities, he saw for one of the few times just how true that was. Things that would have disabled even Dum Dum or Gabe, the physically toughest of the Commandos, he took with a roll and a stolen gun. The punishment that he dealt out would have snapped most men in half despite his wiry frame.

What was really going on here?

For just a moment, the two combatants paused to look at each other. Both panted harshly, Tony snarling and the Winter Soldier as expressionless as he had been through the whole fight.

"Why are you trying to do this?" Tony asked, just barely loud enough for Steve to hear.

There was no answer. All the Winter Soldier did was grab a pistol and shoot.

From there, the fight turned into the strangest game of chicken that Steve had ever seen. It was too much for him to back away from; he couldn't watch Tony get shot at and only survive by ducking or rolling or otherwise dodging at just the right time. The moment the Winter Soldier wasn't facing him, Steve threw his shield.

The stranger twirled on his heel and caught it in his metal hand. When Tony took the opportunity to shoot back with his own revolver, he used the shield to deflect the bullets then throw just like Steve had.

It made him feel naked and vulnerable. And helpless. It was unbearable to watch the enemy use his weapon against the man he loved.

Without getting sliced in half, which should have been impossible for him, Tony caught the shield in both hands and used it to absorb the gunfire that was being poured in his direction. "What did I tell you, Steve!" he howled.

The shield was thrown a third time and suddenly Steve didn't feel naked. He caught it and adjusted it into the position he used for defense and melee combat, crouching down. If he got his chance, he was going to take it.

There was a shout and everything seemed to go in slow motion. Steve hadn't realized how close the fight was to the cliff until Tony was picked up by the back of his jacket and thrown off it like a discus. "Jarvis, deploy!" he shouted, nonsensically, as he fell.

The moment Tony disappeared from view, Steve turned to the Winter Soldier with murder in his eyes. It was Tony's fight and he went down. Now it was Steve's turn to pick up the mantle.

Briefly, a blur of red and gold caught his attention as it zoomed from the sack and over the cliff. It was a few seconds' distraction too long.

Suddenly the Winter Soldier was in his face, crashing into him in an attempt to get at Bucky. The three of them sprawled out on the snow and Monty took the opportunity to get a shot in at the stranger. All it did was crack one of the eyepieces of the man's goggles.

In the chaos that followed the Winter Soldier was kicked in the mask by Bucky then thrown several feet away after Steve grabbed one of his legs. They rolled to their feet and got into defensive stances, watching with interest as the Soldier discarded his goggles. The grey eyes that peered out at them, dazed and desperate, were strangely familiar…

Steve charged and met the Winter Soldier, grunting as he used his shield as a battering ram. The attack was met with a swipe of the metal hand and a glove grabbing the edge of the shield. It, and Steve, were flipped to put their back to the Soldier and leave him defenseless.

That wasn't going to fly. Using his superior strength, Steve brought his arm up and threw the Winter Soldier to land in front of him. The edge of the shield was released and used to bash the man in the face.

It didn't connect, the Winter Soldier danced away too quickly.

Now he knew why Tony had insisted that it was his fight: this was the toughest opponent Steve had ever faced. He'd had less trouble with entire battalions of HYDRA soldiers. Who was this man?

A beam of white-blue light shot past his ear, leaving the Winter Soldier to dodge aside.

When Steve dared to look over his shoulder he couldn't help gaping for a split second. It was the same robot that he had seen in that alleyway in Brooklyn. There were some things different about it; the paint was more chipped and a few parts had been altered, but the face plate and the basic design were the same. The mechanical voice he remembered said, "I'll take over from here, Cap." Oh, and he was floating over the side of the cliff.

Steve knew he was outmatched. There was nothing for it; he followed the orders of Iron Man and rolled out of the way.

Iron Man then _flew_ at the Winter Soldier in a blur of red, gold and steel. More beams of white-blue light shot from his palms, the same color as the flames that kept him suspended in the air.

The Winter Soldier dodged aptly and pulled a gun from a holster between his shoulders.

Even as he watched Iron Man swerve out of the way and counter-attack, Steve couldn't help wondering how many guns the Winter Soldier had on him. It seemed like he pulled them out of nowhere.

Then again, he also wondered if Tony's death had caused his mind to crack. This was impossible, even for him.

"And you thought you were going nuts!" Bucky called from behind him in a tone of awe. It wasn't just happening in Steve's head then.

"So did you!" Steve returned. He watched in undisguised amazement as two titans clashed before them. The Winter Soldier was probably the deadliest man that he had ever seen, but Iron Man was a vision of the future that inspired him.

It was a vision of the future that Steve had no idea was going to repeat itself.

As it was, he watched avidly, keeping himself between the fight and Bucky at all costs.

"Get on your knees," Bucky ordered.

When he looked, Dum Dum dropped. "Don't expect me to blow you," the man grumbled.

The quip was ignored; Bucky knelt and set the end of his rifle on the other man's shoulder. He was aiming at the fight, determination in his face as he sighted his target. "Don't breathe," he ordered.

While Steve normally would have objected, Iron Man was either a machine or wearing armor that the bullet would bounce off of. Their enemy wasn't. This fight needed to end soon or else it may have been for nothing. So he stood still, not daring to move, and allowed his friend to aim between his thighs at the battle.

Iron Man must have read their minds; he launched the Winter Soldier over his shoulder at them.

A single shot rang out.

The Winter Soldier crashed to earth in a spray of blood. He didn't get up.

Cautiously Steve stepped forward, shield at the ready. Was it really over that quickly?

Iron Man seemed to have the same thought. He turned the man over with one gloved hand and a sound like a hiss issued from the helmet. "Definitely dead," he announced.

In the middle of the Winter Soldier's forehead, a round hole bled sluggishly. No one could survive that.

Behind him, Steve heard his friend sag to the ground. "It's over?" Bucky asked hopefully.

"You got him, Sarge," Iron Man confirmed with a nod of his mechanical head.

The battle over, Steve felt himself droop. That fight, the fear, the loss, took more energy than he had. It was just two days after they got done destroying a whole factory. Couldn't the evil let up for a little while? Even super-soldiers need rest.

"It seems like the tally went up by two," Gabe commented sadly.

Steve felt a pang deep in his chest when he realized that Tony was still dead. No matter that they won the battle, the man he loved had fallen off a cliff.

But… He met Tony the day after he saw Iron Man the first time. Tony got thrown off the cliff and Iron Man flew up from that same gully. The suitcase Tony had asked Agent Carter to keep track of for him and the package in the sack. It all added up, but he didn't dare hope.

"Nah, Just one," Iron Man said. There was a grin in its mechanical voice as hands came up to its head. There were a few clicks and the helmet came loose.

When he saw that flushed, sweaty, triumphant face, Steve could have cried. "Tony?" he whispered, not daring to believe his eyes.

"It's me, Cap," he confirmed. Mechanical joints whirred softly as he took a few steps forward.

Before he really knew what he was doing, Steve threw himself into the waiting arms of the man he had given up as dead. "Tony," he repeated, wondering eyes taking in every detail from sparkling brown eyes to messy helmet hair. Without thinking he tugged down the head that was for some reason higher than his and kissed him hard.

The relief and desperation and anger that flowed between them was palpable. Steve could almost taste it. This was something he never thought he could have again and the thought terrified him.

If the way he kissed back said anything, Tony felt the same way. He was harsh and unrelenting, pressing Steve to him until their teeth clacked together and every bit of the metal suit could be felt through his costume.

It was everything that he hadn't dared hope for after Tony fell from that cliff.


	14. Simple and Clean

Many thanks to **tigerlilly** and **Oblivion772** for your reviews! I must say Oblivion, your comment about them fapping made me laugh... and then cry. You'll see why soon.

Celebrating over _three thousand_ views! It made my little hummingbird heart stutter to see that number. Thank you all for reading this and making my day.

So, uh, please don't kill me for this chapter. Please? I love you?

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing under copyright.

 **Chapter 13: Simple and Clean**

" _The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution."_

― _J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_

"Hey dingbats! We kind of need to start walking!" Bucky shouted. There was a sound of skin on skin and he yelped, probably from getting smacked upside the head.

The world came crashing back at the reminder that they were still in enemy territory. They may have been noticed. "We can talk on the way," Steve breathed, still in Tony's space.

"Yessir," the older man grinned. He looked more like an overgrown schoolboy than a forty five year old man.

It was a hard thing to release him, but Steve busied himself with rummaging through the pockets and holsters of the dead Winter Soldier. There was a knife in his boot that he hadn't gotten the chance to use, a miniature pistol tucked into his vest, and a grappling hook of all things among other miscellaneous minutiae. In a belt pouch he found a piece of paper that made him curious.

The note was in a different language, using symbols unknown to Steve, but the handwriting was familiar despite that. Something about the way that the lines curved and spiked spoke to him. He tucked it into his own belt to bring back to London. The SSR should be able to do something with this.

As he was about to go for the mask, a gloved hand caught his. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Tony warned him with a grim look at the dead assassin.

"Doesn't Bucky deserve to know who tried to kill him?" Steve argued.

"It isn't a good idea," Tony said, more seriously than he had in a long while.

"Why?" Steve questioned relentlessly. It didn't make sense. Why was Tony so adamant that they not see the man's identity?

There was a crunch of snow as the rest of the Commandos joined them. Monty looked politely puzzled, Jim just this side of bored, and the rest glared furiously at the corpse. "Good riddance," Dum Dum huffed at the Winter Soldier.

In the middle of them, Bucky held his rifle across his chest. There was a strange, blank look to his eyes as he stared down at his would-have-been killer. "I want to see his face," he said quietly.

Tony looked ready to protest.

He was ignored; Steve ripped the mask off the man's face.

The entire clearing seemed to freeze. Something was horribly, horribly wrong here, because the man who had tried to kill Bucky looked exactly like him. There were the same eyes, jaw and cheekbones, an identical dimple in his chin. The only real differences were that this man's nose was a little more crooked and his hair was to his shoulders. They could have been twins.

"What the hell?" Bucky croaked. His face had gone white and was edging into green, looking at a countenance so much like his own but with a bullet hole that he had put in that identical forehead.

"I told you it wasn't a good idea," Tony said softly. He snatched the mask from Steve's limp hand and replaced it.

Finally, it felt like Steve could breathe again. "You're going to explain this. Now," he demanded. He was through with half-truths that didn't really answer anything. Even Agent Carter's sources were more forthcoming about the Winter Soldier and they had never heard of him, legend or not.

"We need to bury him," Tony said, at the same time that Jim suggested they get moving.

There was a tense, silent stand-off as they tried to decide what to do. "Is there any way to dispose of him quickly?" Steve asked professionally. He was glad that Tony had put the mask back on; he could never have said that while looking into his best friend's face.

Even if it was on another man.

Tony grimaced even as he nodded. "You'll want to turn around for this," he suggested. It was a quick movement for him to reattach the helmet.

They didn't do as he suggested and were rewarded with being near-blinded by the bright blue-white beams coming from his hands. Even as they flinched away from the light, or at least most of them did, the smell of charred meat made Steve gag. He watched through watering eyes as the Winter Soldier's body first turned black, then crisped and began to buckle inward with the heat of the beam. Only when it could barely be recognized as a body did Tony stop. The arm was still remarkably intact, right down to the red star on the shoulder.

"Any chance that we can never talk about this again after this mission?" Bucky requested in a falsely airy voice. He was getting ready to break down. Steve knew that voice. It was the same one that Bucky had spoke in at his parents' funerals after they both died of pneumonia.

"No problems here," Gabe voted wearily.

"If I never hear of this again, it will be too soon," Monty agreed.

Steve gave Tony a look that encouraged him to start talking. "After we get a proper explanation," he said through tight lips.

For once there was no joke or barb as Tony did something within the suit that made the metal plates begin to crawl off of his body. The sight was almost erotic, Steve thought with some irritation. It folded together into a suitcase, innocent-looking considering what it was used for.

Tony picked it up with one hand; it was light. "Where do we begin?" he asked.

Before anything, there was an argument as to what should be done with the Winter Soldier's metal arm. It was the only thing of his that had survived the fire, still shiny and in perfect condition once the soot and ash were rubbed off of it.

In the end, Steve put it in his own pack to show Howard when they got back to London. It was one thing to get rid of a body, it was another to dispose of tech that may be able to help the Allies in the long run. No matter how many dirty looks Tony gave him, he refused to feel guilty.

No matter how he actually did. It felt like grave robbing despite that there was no grave. It was still a dead man's possession. The piece of paper that he had lifted off the man's belt burned in his own.

"So, what do you want to know?" Tony sounded tired, and he looked it. Even in his armor he had gotten some bruises, and he was unshaven and dirty from the fight and the raid. Then again the rest of them looked very similar.

"What the hell was that armor? Who made it?" asked Dum Dum eagerly. Suspiciously.

"It's like you said, armor. And I made it," Tony answered shortly.

"I think what he meant is, why did you make it?" asked Monty insightfully.

This, Tony took a few moments to think on. "Well, it all starts with my past as a weapons manufacturer. I was in competition with Howard but not really. His were meant to kill. Mine… mine were supposed to demoralize," he said with haunted, empty eyes. The same ones that he had worn for the past two days since waking up to find himself in a nightmare.

Suddenly, Steve knew what was meant by 'demoralize'. It made him feel a little sick.

"It's one thing to see the man beside you die. Bleed out in the sand or snow or whatever the hell is under you," Tony continued, "It's another to laugh and walk away and watch everyone who was there drop dead days after their last firefight. I made a missile that sent out shards of shrapnel into anyone within a twenty meter range, to do just that."

"Like a mine?" Jim asked, understanding dawning.

Tony nodded. "Bingo. Except then I found out that someone was selling my tech behind my back, to the very people that I made it to fight. So I made this suit. I turned myself into a weapon. At least that I could control," he said. After a short pause, he added, "I thought. But that's a story for another time." He smiled and it was the most fake thing that Steve had ever seen.

"Why haven't you told anyone about this?" the captain asked, displeased at the thought. It could have made things faster. Saved lives that have been lost in the long march to Germany.

The answer was prefaced by a snort. "They'd demand the tech, more suits, weapons," Tony said with a mirthless laugh, "And just like I told Schmidt, I'd tell them to go fuck themselves. It's not really a question of what would happen that way. Either they'd ruin my life or they'd take it. I like a lack of padded walls and barred doors, and I like my head right where it is, thanks."

It was hard to believe, but Steve knew that Tony was telling the truth. The way he saw it, at least.

"What kind of weapons are we talking?" he asked, "Do we have to worry about them?" Hopefully not. He'd seen how much of a genius Tony was with anything that involved metal, from his old broken radiator to this armor. If he turned his considerable brains to ending lives… they'd all be in even worse trouble.

Everyone sighed in relief as Tony shook his head. "I destroyed them all," he reassured them, "That's what I really created the suit to do. It was a way to get to my enemies, destroy the weapons they somehow got from my labs or partners or whatever it was, and then get out with my ass intact. It worked, and it worked so well that I still use this thing whenever I need to. Like today." He gave a glance over his shoulder at the spot where they had left the Winter Soldier's ashes, something about him regretful even as he looked at the remains of a man who tried to kill him.

"Was it your first kill, one-to-one?" Dum Dum asked, softer than usual.

Tony licked his lips anxiously. "No," he almost whispered, "But it was the first time I've ever… disposed of a body." He gave a queer little laugh. "The guys back home would probably wonder if I was going to make this a habit."

"Are you?" Bucky asked, a wary, concerned, and yet joking look on his face as he shuffled to Steve's other side.

"Only if you piss me off enough," Tony shot back with a wink.

That was when Frenchie, usually so quiet, butted in. Over their time together he had learned some English, enough to get by in a casual conversation and listen into this. "That is your secret?" he asked in his still-too-thick accent.

"One of many, my friend," Tony replied with a dangerous, devil may care smirk.

Some of the tension lifted. The rest of the trip back to England was more pleasant than most of the missions they went on. Monty especially seemed more eager to hang around with Bucky and Tony, an apology in his every look at them. Or offer to share a cigarette, which Bucky sometimes (always) accepted.

"You might live longer if you don't!" Tony called the first time. He choked on a laugh when he realized what he said.

The "Fuck you," that Bucky gave him was affectionate. "Who wants to live forever anyways?" he asked hypothetically after he took a drag.

Steve tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on him. It was true that they didn't know what kind of effects the Serum had on his lifespan. To be honest, they didn't know much about it at all.

But that was okay. It gave him- them- the power they needed to take on HYDRA, and he wasn't in danger of dying this winter because he had a faulty heart and bad lungs, so he was fine with it. Even if there were less desirable side-effects, he'd deal with them as they came.

Hopefully with Tony by his side. Like they had been ever since that fateful revelation about the suit, and ever since the Great POW Rescue. There was that strange thing that stuck out of Tony's chest still, but it was easy to tell that it was an attachment of the suit; probably a magnet or way of summoning the suit to him like he had done on that cliff.

It was strange how much one revelation could change things. The ever-present tension was almost gone, only a hint of uncertainty for what this all meant for them. But that wasn't important right now. It could wait until they were done here and on their way back to Brooklyn, victorious.

It could wait until Steve had a ring and could properly ask. Even if it wasn't legal to marry another man, and was, in fact, illegal to be in a relationship with one, he didn't care. They would deal with the repercussions and show the world that there was nothing wrong with men liking other men. They'd change things so that no one else would have to hide.

On the way back to London they sat in a separate corner from the guys late at night and just curled up together. Felt that yes, they were both alive and they were damn grateful for that. It was more than so many other people could say. Almost more than they could.

Sometimes they would talk. One memorable night, it was about what they'd do after the war was over. "You think that after this clusterfuck is done with, you'll keep being Captain America?" Tony asked, watching as Steve changed from his suit into a dress uniform.

It took a moment to realize exactly what Tony was asking. "Captain America is a symbol, a legend," Steve answered as he shook out the dirty, stained cloth, "Not a man. If they still need me to be, then yes. I will. But if there's no need for the Captain, then he'll stay like he is right now: a uniform in a bag, out of sight but never out of mind." It was a sobering thing to realize that he was still playing a part. Just as much as he did during the USO tours, maybe even more so. Back then he played a character to sell war bonds and raise money, but this way he was a symbol of America itself to the outside world.

"No matter what you do, he'll stay a legend," Tony promised. Was this one of his premonitions, or just wishful thinking?

"What about you?" Steve asked, interestedly glancing at where Tony held onto the suit like it was his baby, "Are you going to keep being Iron Man?"

The answer was an enigmatic shrug. "Like you said, as long as the world needs him," he replied with a sad little smile down at the armor.

Curiosity killed the cat, but Steve hoped that satisfaction brought this one back. "What about you personally? After the war?" he asked softly. His heart beat faster with hope that it would still involve him.

Tony looked at him like he dribbled on his shirt. "If you think I'm doing anything but going back to Brooklyn with you, you're a bigger idiot than I thought," he said with a teasing glint in his eyes, "If I don't end up being worm food, but that's a whole different enchilada." His phrasing was strange, but Steve somehow got it.

He was taken back to several months ago when Tony had told him in a moment of drunken honesty that he was going to be the last one standing of the three of them that had left Brooklyn. It brought a shiver of dread that Steve tried to ignore. Instead he focused on the pleased warmth in his chest that the words somehow brought at the same time. "Brooklyn, huh?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"It's your home," Tony answered with a shrug that he probably intended to be casual rather than uncomfortable.

"What about your home? Can I meet those friends of yours?" Steve blurted out. What kind of friends they were if they didn't write, he didn't know, but Tony still spoke fondly of them when they were mentioned. Maybe circumstances were preventing them from writing, or they were too busy. At least three were likely part of the war effort; it was possible if not probable.

The look Tony gave him was, for once, confused.

"The assassins, the anger management guy, the gay guy…" Steve paused. "The super soldier." He wasn't sure what he felt about that last one.

Tony let out a peal of laughter. "Gay guy?" he crowed, "Oh, never say that to him, ever." His cheeks went red with laughter.

"Sensitive subject?" Steve asked, understanding. Almost anyone confronted with the G-word or the H-word was immediately offended, even if it was true. Even if it was just for the benefit of staying out of an asylum.

"When you meet him, and you will meet them, you'll get it." Tony giggled, almost shining with mirth.

Pride bloomed in Steve's chest when he realized that Tony wasn't ashamed of him. That he was perfectly willing to introduce him to his friends, who seemed like an interesting, exclusive bunch. "So we're going to see your friends and then we'll go back to Brooklyn?" he asked to keep from saying something sappy about it.

"Yep. And I'm going to buy our old building and make it an actual decent place to live," Tony continued, "With reasonable rent and working appliances. We're going to stay together in one of those units and no one is going to give a shit. And if someone does, then I'm booting them out because they're a bigoted asshole." He seemed to be joking, but sometimes it was hard to tell when he was or wasn't.

"I can get work on the base, maybe some commissions for my drawings," Steve added in happily, able to envision it so stupidly clearly, "We can have a radio- a good one- and you can make and improve things in the kitchen as long as you don't blow anything up." Well, not too badly at least.

"Me, not blow things up?" Tony snorted, crossing his arms. "Do you know how often I nearly blow myself up trying to improve this thing alone?" He gestured to the red and gold suitcase with false offense.

From there, the conversation got more outlandish and real at the same time. Tony insisted on rebuilding every appliance in their flat even as Steve said that he'd cook, because anything is better than Tony's cooking. Getting books and lamps and interesting decorations at stoop sales. Tony keeping a working partnership with Howard so that he had a place to blow up, make and fix the big things while Steve trained army recruits or tested equipment. Howard would have a son- just one, Tony was insistent- and they would be the fun uncles, maybe even get the chance to adopt if it were allowed by then. Them going to bed every night alive, happy and together until they're both so old that they just don't wake up one morning.

It was everything Steve wanted. He wanted it so badly, and it felt so close, that he could taste the domestic bliss.

But why did Tony look more and more sad as they continued? By the end of it, his smiles were too sharp and his eyes too hollow to even pretend anymore. "That sounds great," he said in a hoarse voice.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, frowning. Wasn't this supposed to be cheerful? Shouldn't it make them happy to dream up the kind of life they wanted?

"I don't think I'm going to make it back to Brooklyn, Steve," Tony said, more honest than Steve had ever seen him. There was fear and depression and acceptance all rolled up into that one sentence that Steve had never wanted to hear in his man's voice. This time it was definitely a prediction.

If Steve had anything to say about it, this one wouldn't come true. "You're going to be a part of defeating HYDRA, and you're going to get out of there alive whether you like it or not," he threatened, "You're coming home with me to meet my parents- see their graves, anyway- and I'm going to meet yours and you're going to die a very old man, warm in his bed. You hear me?"

For some reason that last part made Tony chuckle. "Anything you say, Jack," he said teasingly. The smile he gave was sincere though, as he said, "I hear you. And I'll try."

It was all Steve could ask of him, so he took it. He took it and plopped down beside his man and put an arm around him, holding him close until they got to the other side of the Channel.

In the next weeks, Tony's routine varied enough for Steve to notice despite most of his time being taken up by strategy meetings. If he wasn't with Howard in the lab, he was with the Commandos having a good time. If he wasn't in either of those places, he was usually attached at the hip to Steve. But sometimes he wasn't any of those places.

During those times he was damn near impossible to find. In the end Steve never was able to follow him, instead stuck waiting to be found. It never took long though. He didn't worry about it very much.

Admittedly, Steve did his own bits of shady hiding. One of those was when he tracked down Agent Carter right after a brainstorming session with the higher-ups. "Agent Carter, I need to talk to you," he said upon seeing her walking out a doorway.

With a look at her watch, she nodded. "What about?" she questioned.

"Can we maybe talk in Howard's lab?" Steve asked in return, edging around the subject. If anyone around here heard about the arm or the Winter Soldier, he was sure Tony would murder them all.

It was obvious that she only agreed out of curiosity. The several minutes that it took to get to the space were quiet, but seethed with unspoken thoughts. Once the secretary was passed by with a cold shoulder from Agent Carter and a distant greeting from Steve, they were home free.

"Oh Captain, my Captain, what can I do for you this fine day?" Howard asked cheerfully from where he was examining something on a table. "Tony isn't here right now."

Steve nodded in acknowledgement. "I need to show Agent Carter the arm. She might be able to get some more info on it," he replied.

The look that Agent Carter gave him was disquieted and sharp at once. "An arm?" she parroted, frowning.

With a flourish Howard uncovered a set-up on the table adjacent to the one he was working at. It was the Winter Soldier's arm, surrounded by several tools like soldering irons, pincers, and a microscope. Parts of it were uncovered, the wiring exposed, but in general it looked just like when Steve had dropped it off a few days ago.

"Got me anything?" Steve asked of the mechanic as Agent Carter examined it with wide eyes.

Just looking at the thing seemed to put Howard in a state of excited awe. "It's just like what I said about that submarine: modestly speaking, I'm the best electrical engineer in America and I don't know a damn thing about how it works, never mind where it came from. There aren't any electrical generators or any way to charge it, so I think it might run off the body heat of whoever it was attached to. No matter how crazy that sounds. What happened to this guy anyways?" Sharp brown eyes looked up at him, and Steve was suddenly hit by how much they looked like Tony's.

"Bucky shot him," Steve answered blandly.

"Well, whatever happened there, the person who made this is way beyond what I can do. The plate structure alone- horizontal instead of a mix-up- is something that I've never seen function before. Did it work well?" Howard asked, his genius mind whirring to action as he watched the agent look at his project.

Working well was the understatement of the year. "It was stronger than I am," Steve answered honestly, "and functioned just like a human arm. Nothing I did, or Tony did, put even a dent in it."

When he mentioned Tony, Agent Carter looked up with a thoughtful gleam in her eyes. "I don't recognize the workmanship of the piece," she announced with a sort of disappointed determination, "But the red star is used by the Soviets. Otherwise, I'll need to ask my contacts about it. Who did this arm come off of, again?"

"Tony said he was the Winter Soldier," Steve replied. If the man really was Russian, it explained the name.

"What did he look like? Did he speak Russian?" Agent Carter asked. It was easy to see her taking mental notes even as she went back to examining the arm.

It took a moment for Steve to think back on everything that he had heard- or overheard- about the Winter Soldier. "He looks exactly like Bucky," he said thoughtfully, "Only his nose was a little crooked, like it broke and didn't get reset well. And he had a Russian accent."

The combination of factors wasn't looking good. Were the Russians in league with HYDRA?

Agent Carter seemed to think the same thing, from the thinning of her painted lips. "I'll ask my contacts about him," she promised.

As a last minute thought, Steve handed her the paper that he had taken off the Winter Soldier's belt. When it left his hand, he felt a little lighter. "If you can, I need this decoded. It was on the Winter Soldier when he died and none of us were able to translate," he said, remembering the utter frustration on Tony's face as he repeatedly failed.

"I can try," Agent Carter agreed with a glance down at the cypher. With a last nod to the men, she left gracefully.

"What a dame," Howard sighed as he watched her go.

Privately, Steve had to agree. If things were different and he didn't have Tony, he could see himself being in love with her. As it was, she was an admirable agent and one of the best people that he had met.

"How's it going with you and Tony?" Howard asked out of the blue.

Steve whirled around, wide-eyed and praying that no one had overheard.

The grin on Howard's face was mischievous. "Damn, I owe Peggy five dollars now," he said disappointedly, but there was no heat to it.

"You won't tell, will you?" Steve asked anxiously. Relief made him let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding when Howard shook his head.

"Why would I? You're swell guys and he's one of the best inventors I've ever met. It would be a shame to lose you both to the looney bin," the inventor said with a smile.

"Thanks. I think I'd better go. I need to find Bucky," Steve said, remembering that tonight they were supposed to go out to see what was left of the St Paul Cathedral. From what they'd heard, it was still a spectacular sight.

Before he could leave the room, Howard called him back. Again the man was serious, greasy hands tucked into his pockets as he surveyed Steve. "Listen Steve, you're amazing. But I've figured a few things out and the variables to this equation have changed. What I'm trying to say is that if you hurt Tony, there'll be hell to pay. Got it?" he asked.

Steve blinked, not sure what to think. Was he getting the shovel speech? "Loud and clear," he agreed unsurely.

"Good man," Howard replied cheerfully, "Don't you forget it." With that, he went back to his project, whistling a jaunty tune.

Even as he shook his head, Steve exited the room quickly. What could have changed since they got back from Greece and Romania?

For the moment, he put it out of his mind. He had a friend to rescue from the multitude of women that he was undoubtedly flirting with and a ruined cathedral to tour.

* * *

The next time he sneaked away, it was to a jewelry store he saw on the way to St Paul's. It was a quiet, unassuming place, miraculously intact, with highly polished floors and gleaming wooden panels on the wall. When the elderly caretaker looked up from where he was cleaning a case, he smiled. "Welcome. Can I help you find anything, sir?"

Nervously Steve ran a hand through his hair, then smoothed it down again as he looked around. "I need help finding a ring. Something hard-wearing but nice-looking," he said. Everything around him glittered and dazzled the eyes, not really Tony's style.

The case that the proprietor took him over to was more subdued than most of the shop, but the craftsmanship didn't suffer for it. "What can you tell me about the lady's style?" he asked.

It hurt to have to play along. "Shiny, intricate, but I don't think jewels would go well. We never really discussed jewelry but she doesn't seem to be that kind of girl. Likes to work with her hands, admires good craftsmanship more than sparkle, but likes a bit of flash every now and again," Steve said, careful to use female pronouns the whole time. He glanced over the case, examining each piece quickly before moving on.

A metal that didn't look like silver but definitely wasn't steel or white gold caught his eye from the very front of the case. "What's that right there?" Steve asked, pointing at it.

The jeweler smiled bemusedly as he plucked it from the stand. "Ah, this little beauty. It was a pet project of mine. It's made of titanium," he explained as he handed it to Steve, "It isn't a usual jewelry metal, I actually haven't seen anyone else do this. It's being experimented with for making airplanes, if I heard right. Stronger than steel but light as aluminum."

It certainly was light, nearly weightless between Steve's fingers, and the right size. When he put a little pressure on it, he was surprised to see that the jeweler was right; strength that usually bent steel did little if anything to this. "Wow," he breathed out, a smile growing as he looked at the design.

Most of the ring was plain, but there were lines cut through it lengthwise, that made the one look like three. It was simple, but there was a sophistication to it that he thought Tony would appreciate. Not to mention the toughness. It would probably be able to stand up to their lives.

"How much?" Steve asked calmly. On the inside, he was dancing for joy.

The jeweler gave him a remarkably cheap price of seven pounds, fifteen shillings. It was explained sadly as, "A necessary evil. It's been sitting here and taking up space for nearly a year now." The look on his face when Steve asked him to make another, this time a plain ring that would fit him, was comical.

"It's going to cost more," the jeweler warned as he set the ring in a box he had pulled from a cabinet behind him.

The price of fifteen pounds, fifty shillings, _was_ high. Steve was sure that his scrawny self would have passed out at the thought. Luckily the pay he was getting from the army was insane and he still had most of his earnings from his USO show days.

He walked out the door ten minutes later with a substantially lighter wallet, a ring box burning a hole in his pocket, and a slip to pick up his ring in a month's time. His silly grin alerted Tony the moment he walked into the lab he was currently sharing with Howard.

"What did you do this time?" Tony asked warily.

"Nothing bad, I hope," Steve answered, giving him a loving kiss on the lips that made Howard gag behind them. Now it all depended on if he could get up the guts to ask.

* * *

The next mission was sent out in late December, right after Christmas. It would be a depressing way to spend New Years, but Steve gritted his teeth and went with it. These missions had to get done sometime.

This particular base was in Austria, not far from the Swiss border. Was it him or was HYDRA strangely obsessed with Switzerland despite it being neutral? No matter what was going on there, it was cold even to Steve and everyone was less than enthusiastic.

It took far too long for them to realize that something wasn't right. The forest was silent. There were no birds chirping or squirrels chattering or any other sort of animal noise.

"Why is it so damn quiet?" Jim asked quietly.

The moment he said it, the cause of the quiet was revealed: they were surrounded. The caravan that they were supposed to be attacking was full of enemies, and more dropped from the trees or seemingly popped out of the ground. How had no one noticed them? There were probably over a hundred of them!

Steve felt his brain whiz along every scenario he could think of. When he noticed that the guns the HYDRA goons held were the disintegrating kind, they all narrowed down to one option: death. If they fought, they would get killed automatically.

It took more will to drop his shield and raise his hands in the air than it had ever taken to pick it up and fight with it. The dull ring of metal hitting hard packed earth rang through the clearing.

Weapons were dropped all along the Commandos' circle. Rifles, pistols, machine guns and a shotgun all hit the dirt. Reluctantly, hands were raised in the air.

Getting captured was a more tedious business than Steve had thought, but maybe that was all the extra precautions they took to keep him in line. There were cuffs on his ankles and wrists as well as a collar, and all of it was connected to a tough leather belt. They weren't underestimating him, he thought with chagrin.

For once, he wished they would. It would make escape a lot easier.

"Okay, so what's the plan?" Bucky whispered. The noise of Gabe getting herded into the back of a truck covered it.

"I'm trying to come up with one," Steve answered under his breath. He winced slightly as Dum Dum got thrown in face-first after one smart remark too many. Tony got the same treatment.

Steve was saved for last. It took four men to lift him into the back of the truck, with how tightly he was bound. Shuffling to an open spot on the bench between Tony and Bucky was a pain, but he made it before the engine started.

The flaps on the back were closed, leaving them in the dark.

"I hope you have a plan, Captain," Monty commented.

"Trying to think of one," Steve said again. He gritted his teeth and tested the strength of his bonds. There was a ripping sound from the belt, but the metal didn't budge. They had really come prepared for a super soldier.

"You don't have the suit, do you?" Bucky asked Tony hopefully.

"I haven't managed to fit it in my pocket yet, no," was the dry response.

The rest of the ride passed in silence as Steve's brain whirled. First order of business was to get their cuffs off. Second was to get out of whatever containment they would be transferred to. Third, grab weapons. Last of all, they would do like they always did: fight the enemy and blow all their stuff straight to hell. It sounded simple.

Somehow, Steve doubted it would be.

By the time they got where they were going, Bucky had fallen asleep on Steve's shoulder and he had thought of precisely nothing to help them escape their current situation. Hopefully there was something in the actual base that they could use.

Passing through to the holding cells, it didn't look likely. They were a few of many POWs, calling Steve back to when he had rescued the 107th that night almost a year ago. It was almost the exact same situation, but instead of being the rescuer he was one of the prisoners.

There wouldn't be a Captain America to save them this time. Unless he got his shit together this instant.

Nothing was left to chance this time. They were shoved into different cells in pairs and kept separated from the other prisoners, who stared curiously as they whispered. With Steve, Dum Dum huffed out some choice words for their current situation.

It was as Tony was getting pushed into his cell with Bucky that it happened: one of the guards was a little too rough and ripped his shirt. A sudden blue glow radiated out and Tony swore. "Steve, I'm so sorry," he apologized, face agonized, even as he turned to Bucky. "Wanna be the Maginot Line and get penetrated hard and fast?"

If it weren't for the situation, or who was saying it, Steve would have laughed. As it was, he gaped and felt something crack in his chest. It only got worse when Bucky, hands free now, dove for Tony and they both crashed to the ground.

"Is now really the best time for that?" Monty called, even as Frenchie babbled something in a voice that was more horrified than the situation called for.

Steve couldn't take his eyes off where Bucky was busy doing something to Tony's chest- did he even want to know what? The goons had finally gotten their senses back and were trying to separate them…

"Steve, smash it!" Bucky called.

Something that glowed blue like the HYDRA weapons was thrown at him and Steve deftly caught it. The round thing was the size of his fist and the smell reminded him of when a burn is healing; like white blood cells and metal. Pale gunk dripped off the back and the wires attached, even as Steve crushed the device between his hands without a second thought.

With a yelp, Bucky was thrown into the cell and the door locked. Tony was left on the floor of the hallway and he was coughing from where he went almost unseen at the goons' feet.

There was a great shuffle of activity and some of them went… somewhere. Probably to report what happened.

That left Tony just able to be seen, and what he saw sucked the air directly out of Steve's chest. Blood was dribbling down the man's chin and his face was going grey even as he laughed, eyes hard where they stared at the enemy soldiers. "Even if it takes seventy five years, you'll still lose," he chuckled at them.

It took Steve a moment to look at Tony's chest, see what Bucky had been doing there that caused this whole mess. A gaping hole greeted his eyes, the size of a small hand and rimmed with metal. It was all too easy to put the pieces together. He dropped the thing he had smashed and swore it actually burned him.

Horror crept up on Steve as he watched Tony struggle for breath on the floor. "Tony," he whispered and dropped to his knees. He stretched out a hand, trying to touch that beloved face again.

Tony must have heard him, as his head turned toward the cell. "Sorry Steve," he said, "I won't make it back to Brooklyn." His voice grew progressively weaker as he spoke, harsh coughs interspersing the words. The regret in his voice was something that Steve had never heard before.

"No, no, please, you can't die. Not here, not now," the super soldier pleaded. He knew that there was no way that his prayers could be answered, no matter that they both made the impossible happen routinely. No one could survive leaving a fist-sized hole in their chest unplugged.

Too weak to speak, Tony just smiled at him. His eyes were glassy and unseeing. With a last laugh, his wheezing cut out. There wasn't one sound or movement from him, not a single sign of life.

Tony Stark was dead.

Everything went red and it was the last thing Steve remembered for a long time.

* * *

When Steve came to, he was being wrestled onto a bed by Bucky. The shock of it had him go still, which threw his friend off of him. "What…" he mumbled, examining his surroundings with confusion.

They were in a field hospital, from the equipment and tent. An Allied one, considering that everything was written in English and they weren't being immediately arrested. How did they get here?

"Steve?" Bucky asked cautiously from where he had landed on the floor.

Quickly Steve sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What happened?" he asked, haunted by the images behind his eyelids, "Is it time to go yet?"

The look on his friend's face told him everything he needed to know. It wasn't a horrible nightmare. Tony was really dead.

"We're in an army hospital that got set up near Liechtenstein," Bucky was saying when he came back to himself, "We nearly had to knock you out to get you to let go of him." Something in his grey eyes hurt to look at. He slowly got to his feet, making no sudden movements, like he thought that he might be attacked.

The energy felt like it got sucked out of Steve. Something in his chest went cold and dead, and he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed. "What happened?" he asked dully.

Some part of Steve paid attention as the events of the last night and day were recounted to him. He took in the information and stored it away without processing it: how he went into a rage that not even thick steel bars could hold and ripped open the cages that the POWs were in. How he fought with fists and feet and teeth, like a wild thing, until he got his shield. How he lit everything on fire that would burn and wrecked everything that wouldn't. That he had come out of that base last, coated in blood and carrying Tony's body. Until they got to the camp, he hadn't let go of the corpse no matter how he had been requested or cajoled to do something other than march and destroy.

When they got here the medical personnel had clearly overwhelmed his wrecked mental state. It was only because Bucky was strong and Frenchie was quick that no one had gotten hurt after someone tried taking Tony's body from him. In the end a very persuasive nurse had allowed him to stay with Tony, if he would just lay down and let them treat his own injuries.

He had woken in the middle of someone trying to take Tony away to be stored somewhere that he wouldn't rot as fast.

Everything was too real, too wrong, for Steve to do anything but shut down. Again he lost himself but this time there was no redness. Instead he lost all feeling and comprehension, simply stared when he was talked to and unreactive when Bucky gently led him away to get cleaned up.

It probably said something, Steve thought distantly, that all this red washed down the drain and none of it was his. It came from everywhere; his hair, the inside of his boots, under his fingernails. And it was all from people he had killed.

No matter that he didn't talk or even react, Bucky was nothing but patient with him, cleaning his body much like when he was still a scrawny little guy and too sick to even get out of bed.

Distantly Steve noticed that he was given a clean bill of health physically.

Mentally, he was labeled unfit for duty; he had one of the most severe cases of shell-shock that the doctor had ever seen. Some part of him found it funny that in the last war his father had come down with the same thing. Would he too never be the same?

Of course he wouldn't be the same. How could he be?

When Bucky asked if he was ready to go back to England, Steve smiled. It was vacant and his eyes were like a doll's: empty and lifeless.

He didn't react when his friend shivered.

* * *

 **THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY.**

There's one more chapter and an epilogue, before I start on the sequel/prequel. That will probably premier in April or May, depending on my schedule outside of writing. Thanks for reading!

-Thrae


	15. The Null Months

Thank you to the reviewers: **Guest** , **Oblivion772** , and **tigerlilly**! I must say that I'm very impressed with the rant that I received from **Guest** and that they were so emotional that they forgot to sign a name.

 **Oblivion772** : Yep! Very good song, no matter how I prefer the Japanese version. I was trying to decide on a title for this chapter when I said, "Eh, fuck it," and used the song I was listening to at the time. Surprising how well it fit in some ways.

Last chapter before the epilogue... I think we all know what's going to happen. Though there are going to be a few surprises, or at least I hope they'll be surprising. Again, please don't kill me.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

 **Chapter 14: The Null Months**

" _You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp."_

― _Anne Lamott_

It took Howard breaking his nose for Steve to feel something again. How the inventor had managed that, he wasn't sure, but it knocked the sense back into him.

"You said you wouldn't hurt him!" Howard shouted. He took a few steps back to more effectively glare at the man, seemingly not noticing that his knuckles were split. There was something stricken in his dark eyes.

Steve felt something lurch inside of him. Those eyes were too similar to Tony's. "I… I didn't mean to," he murmured.

Howard opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, Bucky stepped between the two. "If you're going to hit anyone, hit me," he said, "It's not Steve's fault Tony died. It's mine." No matter how he tried to hide it, the pain and misery in his voice peeked out like the rotten spots on an apple.

While Steve blinked in shock, Howard seethed. "Get out of the way, Barnes," the inventor hissed.

"No." The one word was left to stand on its own for a moment before a rush of them followed. "It's my fault Tony died in there. I was the one who pulled that thing out of his chest, and I was the one who told Steve to smash it. You can hit me as much as you want if it makes you feel better. But Steve didn't do anything, so don't hit him again."

Before anything more could be done, Agent Carter entered the room. She was cool and collected, but her eyes were red and swollen. "Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers," she addressed them, "Colonel Phillips requests you come to his office." It was only after she finished speaking that she realized what she had walked into, eyes darting around and putting together the picture quickly.

"It's okay," Steve assured her before she could say anything to Howard, "Don't worry about it." With a sharp crack he lined up the bones and cartilage and a fresh river of blood flowed down his throat and from his nostrils. It hurt, but not so bad.

"You may want to clean up before you see the colonel," Agent Carter advised. Looking at Howard, she added sharply, "You're requested too." With that, she turned around and left the room as suddenly as she came.

The tension, which had been broken by Agent Carter's sudden appearance, came back full-force. It was with a malevolent glare at both of the soldiers that Howard left, purposely running into Bucky on the way out.

That left Bucky and Steve and the distance that had grown between them since Austria. It was painful, being so far away from his best friend while able to touch. But it was more painful to know that they had been responsible for Tony's death.

Without a word Steve turned and walked from the room, mopping up his face as best he could with a handkerchief. He could hear Bucky on his heels, but still didn't say anything.

As he roamed the halls of the underground complex toward the colonel's office, he noticed the looks he was getting. There was a strange combination of pity, trepidation and sadness in most of them when they saw him but no one spoke. That was a relief. Steve couldn't stand one more condolence.

When he knocked on the door of the colonel's office, the familiar gruff voice called for him to come in.

Upon looking at the desk, it was obvious that the colonel meant business. He was sitting down, reading spectacles on, and scowling more deeply than Steve had ever seen him. If the papers on the desk were about what he thought, then Steve was screwed. He was so, so screwed. Goodbye, military career.

But did that really matter anymore?

No, not really. Even as Steve saluted, he wondered if that made him a terrible person. "You called for us, sir?" he asked, so certain of what was going to happen.

Beside him, Bucky shifted uncomfortably. "Sir?" he asked quietly.

"You boys are in a whole lot of trouble," the colonel told them in that same voice that he had used right after Project Rebirth, when he called Steve a science experiment, "You are going to tell me everything that happened on that mission, from the moment you set foot on that boat to getting to Liechtenstein. Rogers, you first. Barnes, wait outside." He pointed to the door without even looking at Bucky, only reacting when the other man left and closed the door.

As he hadn't been told to sit down, Steve stayed standing with his hands behind his back and told everything he could remember. He spoke about the ambush and how they had known to prepare for him, the strange words and the machine he smashed. About Tony dying there in the hallway, laughing. In the background a typewriter gently clicked, turning his words into a record.

"The next thing I knew, Bucky- Sergeant Barnes- was holding me down in the army hospital," he finished, throat dry. He had been speaking for the better part of an hour, sure to not leave out a single detail.

"You don't remember anything at all between Lieutenant Starosta's death and that hospital?" the colonel asked, not quite disbelieving but not completely accepting of it either.

"Correct, sir," Steve agreed, "I was told what happened during that time, but I remember none of it myself." All he knew during that time was red. It was like he had gone to sleep in that cell and then woken up somewhere else.

"What did you do with the object removed from Lieutenant Starosta's chest?" questioned Colonel Phillips from over his glasses.

It took a moment to think about it. "Dum Dum- I mean, Dugan, kept it safe. From what I understand he turned it over to Howard Stark when we got back," Steve said slowly. It was what he had been told, but he knew nothing of it himself.

The colonel grumbled something uncomplimentary and made a note. "Did you know anything about the object in Lieutenant Starosta's chest?" he asked next.

Memories slammed into Steve. Him wondering why Tony always wore at least two shirts, asking what that thing was that kept digging into his stomach when Tony slept on top of him but never receiving an answer, and then assuming that it was a part of the armor. "I noticed that something wasn't right, but it didn't interfere with the missions so I let it go," he admitted.

This time, he was given a full glare. "Is there any chance that Lieutenant Starosta was a HYDRA spy?" the colonel asked bluntly.

"No," Steve automatically blurted out, horrified and defensive at once.

"Don't record this part," the colonel instructed the woman typing.

She nodded and set her hands demurely in her lap.

When Colonel Phillips turned back to Steve, he sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Listen Rogers, I knew about the two of you since before this happened," he gestured at the captain's body, "It was part of why he was my pick and not you, so that you could go home and there would be no distractions like this. But," He instructed the woman to begin typing again, "answer me truthfully, and I know you can answer this logically: is there a snowball's chance in hell that he was a spy?" His eyes were piercing, demanding absolute honesty.

This time, Steve used his not-inconsiderable brain power to come up with an answer rather than listening to his instincts. Even though they had never led him astray before. "No matter that I don't think he was- he hated HYDRA too much for that- there is technically a possibility," he answered diplomatically. No one knew what happened when Tony was brought before the Red Skull except the two of them, after all.

The colonel dug through his papers. "Alright, bring in Barnes," he ordered with a wave of his hand at the door.

Steve opened the door and gestured for Bucky, who had been pacing in the hallway, to enter the room. He ducked out of the doorway to keep them from touching. The mere thought made him want to scrub his hands.

"Sir?" Bucky said again, standing before the desk. He looked like a prisoner about to receive his sentence.

"Tell me from your point of view what happened from leaving England until you got to the hospital," the colonel ordered again.

There was very little variation in Bucky's story until he told about when they were being herded into the cages. "A guard tore his shirt and revealed that thing in his chest. He gave me a prearranged signal and I followed the instructions he had given me to take it out," he said dully, eyes somewhere far away.

"And the signal was?" the colonel asked with a raised eyebrow.

A small smile flickered at the edge of Bucky's lips before they fell again. "What he actually said was, 'Wanna get penetrated hard and fast like the Maginot Line,' and the signal was that he would flirt really, really badly at me. He always flirts- flirted- with everyone, so it wouldn't seem out of character in case it was a while before I could get to him," he explained.

There was a snort from the back corner, but when they looked at her, the typist ducked her head with embarrassment. If this were any other situation, Steve would have done the same.

As it was, he simply crossed his arms and raised a brow. Well, they weren't wrong.

"The sequence?" Colonel Phillips prompted, satisfied with the explanation given for the signal.

"I can't tell you, sir," Bucky said immediately. He had a mulish look on his face that Steve immediately recognized. No one would be able to get any information out of him that he didn't want them to in this state.

It seemed that the colonel was unfamiliar with it. "Sure you can," he said with a huff that could almost be called amused, "There's no use in protecting him, Barnes. He's already dead."

That was hitting way below the belt. "Sir," Steve protested sharply.

"All the more reason to keep that information secret, _sir_ ," Bucky said. The way he said the last word, it sounded like an insult.

When Colonel Phillips shrugged, it was like he had simply given in on what to order for dinner rather than valuable information. "We'll get it anyway. The actual device may have been destroyed," and didn't Steve feel ready for the floor to suck him in at the reminder, "but we still have the part in his chest. That's more than enough for Stark to get to the bottom of."

Steve had the feeling that Howard would throw them out of his lab for even asking this of him.

After that, it was the same story that Bucky had told Steve in the field hospital. It felt weird to hear about doing things he didn't remember, unsettling even. When the retelling was done with, probably another hour had passed and Bucky was starting to go hoarse. It only got worse after he was asked when he found out about the object in Tony's chest.

Even after Tony was gone, he was right: Steve hated Greenland more than he ever thought he could hate a place. Betrayal warred with anger in his mind. Only clenching his hands in his sleeves helped, and that was very little.

"Did you know that taking it out would kill Lieutenant Starosta?" Colonel Phillips asked the million dollar question seriously, hands folded in front of him. Keen eyes watched Bucky for any and all reactions.

The shake of his head that Bucky gave was frantic. "He just said he'd have to pay for a new one and then implied that it would cost a lot," he answered, voice pleading for them to believe him, "If I knew that it'd kill him to take it out, I never woulda done it. I swear." He rambled on, answering questions that would surely have been asked at some point. "He said it was advanced technology, too advanced to let HYDRA get a hold of or we might lose the war. And he couldn't take it out himself because he had to install locks on it after he took it out when he was dru- son of a bitch." He stilled, realizing suddenly what Tony had meant.

It hit them all at the same time, from the sharp intake of breath that the colonel took. The room was suddenly stifling, Steve could barely breathe.

"Did he show any suicidal inclinations?" Colonel Phillips asked.

"No more than the rest of us. We all took risks," Bucky answered immediately, "It's true that he took some of the more dangerous parts, but we knew he could do it without getting himself killed. Anything that we'd call suicidal, Steve- Cap, did." It was a mild barb at his friend, a teasing comment like they would normally exchange at the worst of times.

It almost made Steve smile.

"When we know more, I'll call you in to ask you more questions," the colonel said, unsatisfied. "Now to decide on your discipline." He gave Bucky a sharp look as he dug in the papers in front of him again.

Steve could hear his friend gulp nervously.

"You're damn lucky that this landed on my desk today, Barnes," Colonel Phillips said, waving a letter at him. Even from the door, Steve recognized Tony's handwriting.

"Sir?" Bucky asked, confused and hopeful at once.

"This is a confirmation that Starosta asked you to take out this thing- he called it an arc reactor, in the case of HYDRA discovering it, and a request to not charge you with murder and treason," the colonel summarized, glancing down at the paper occasionally as he did.

It was more than either of them deserved, Steve thought harshly.

"So, at his request, I'm not putting you in prison or sending you to the shooting range," the colonel continued. "The coroner's assistant had to take leave. You're going to help him with Lieutenant Starosta's autopsy."

Even Steve felt that was too much. "Sir, is he even allowed down there?" he questioned.

The look he got wasn't encouraging. "He is if I say he is, Rogers," he barked. Turning back to Bucky, he questioned, "Do you understand me?" His eyes dared the man to say no.

"Yes sir," Bucky said wisely. Even if it did take him opening and shutting his mouth a few times to do so.

The door opened and Howard walked in, hand freshly bandaged. "You wanted to see me?" he asked expectantly.

The colonel eyed the inventor's bandaged hand, then Steve's slightly swollen, bloody nose, before apparently deciding that he didn't want to know. "Record ended," he said to the typist before turning his attention back to the men before his desk. "Right on time Stark. You three have bequests from the recently deceased Lieutenant Anthony Edward Starosta, who's also called Anthony Edward Stark in this will, which is dated to November 14, 1944," he said, reading off of a different paper.

All three of them gaped this time. Somehow Steve hadn't thought about Tony having a will, no matter what their life circumstances right now.

Howard recovered the fastest. "Go on then, read it," he ordered.

Colonel Phillips gave him a baleful look.

To keep it from becoming a power struggle, Steve jumped in. "Can you maybe just summarize it, sir? I doubt most of us would understand the legalese," he requested.

"To Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the Howling Commandos, he leaves his tool set so that he can do something with his life, and his copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, in hopes that it will bore him to death," Colonel Phillips read dryly before looking up at the very confused Sergeant. "His words, not mine. Do you accept?"

At that, Bucky relaxed. "Yes," he answered. If his voice was a little choked up, no one commented beyond the glare that Howard gave him.

"To Mr Howard Anthony Walter Stark, he leaves the remains of the arc reactor that was pulled from his chest and a brown portfolio with all its contents. His entire monetary worth, excluding the cost of his funeral, is left to Stark Industries on the condition that it is not used to develop or make weapons. Do you accept?"

This time, it was Howard who was shocked. "Yes," he said simply, almost speechless as he stared at the paperwork in the colonel's hand.

"To Captain Steven Grant Rogers, he leaves his red and gold suitcase and all of its contents, as well as his journal, on the condition that they will not be misused. Do you accept?"

It took a moment for Steve to find his tongue. "Yes sir," he breathed. When had Tony gotten around to doing this? Probably during one of those times that he couldn't be found before the mission.

"You, Captain Rogers, have been named his next of kin and the responsibility for his burial and any other necessary arrangements are left to you," the colonel finished. There was a look of pity in his face that Steve couldn't stand.

"May I be dismissed?" he asked. If he had to stay here one more minute he was going to break down in front of the three people he least wanted to see him in that state.

"Dismissed, Captain," Colonel Phillips agreed.

Steve almost ran from the room in search of a place to be alone. It was too crowded here, too full of people that he didn't want to talk to or even see. The hallways passed in a flood of color and sound before he was suddenly out on the street, blinking dazedly in the sunlight.

As he wandered through the crowds of London, Steve thought about what just happened. How Tony had a will made not even a month before the mission that killed him. The only logical reason behind it was that he knew he was going to die. But that was impossible, wasn't it?

" _I'm a little psychic."_ The words struck Steve like a hammer. He had to sit down on the nearest bench before he just fell over in the middle of the street.

With his head in his hands, he remembered all the little details that he had puzzled over in the time Tony was with him. The things he knew would happen, the extraordinary armor (which was now Steve's), and the secret jokes that only he seemed to understand. It all added up in a big ball of confusion and grief.

He more felt than heard someone sit on the bench beside him. When he looked, Steve saw that it was the jeweler he had gone to a month before. The man gave him a sympathetic smile, but quickly turned his watery brown gaze to the people passing by. "Didn't go as you planned?" he asked.

"I didn't get the chance to ask," Steve corrected with a humorless laugh, "Dead before I could get the words out." He cursed himself for being so cowardly, waiting too long.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," the jeweler said in a subdued voice.

For a few moments they both sat on that bench as the world passed them by. Where Steve battled with his grief, the jeweler seemed to be at peace. It must have been quite a sight, a big man in a dress uniform hunched over beside a thin old man who leaned back comfortably against the bench.

"I don't think that I'll make another titanium ring," the jeweler commented softly, "They all seem to have sad endings."

The reminder that his ring must have arrived made Steve look up with reddened eyes. "If you have it, I can pick it up today," he offered. His voice cracked and he felt his ears go red with embarrassment over it.

The jeweler tilted his head to the side like an owl, examining the other man. "Are you sure you still want it?" he asked. The concern in his voice was touching.

"If all the stories with your titanium rings have ended sadly, I think I'd like to keep that kind of bad luck to myself. No need for anyone else to suffer it," Steve said, "No matter that I was never able to ask her to be mine, I'm still hers. I always will be." He was startled by the honesty of his words, even if he had to use the wrong pronoun. It was true, he had never felt like this for anyone before, and he wasn't sure that he ever would again. This was the sort of love that came around once in a lifetime.

"You can't spend your whole life like that," the jeweler prompted gently.

Normally, Steve would agree with him. This situation was a little different. "She would want me to go out and find somebody pretty, get married, have a boatload of kids and tell them all about her," he said, unable to imagine Tony wanting anything else after telling him to live for them all, "But there's something that isn't adding up, and I need to figure that out. Quick. You never know what's going to happen in a war."

He thought back to Tony's drunken words about him being the last one standing and felt determination curl in him. He knew the moment his eyes hardened; the jeweler looked at him with bemused but bright eyes as he sat up straighter. "Time to make sure that the second part of that prediction doesn't happen," he muttered to himself. He had work to do.

Wisely, the jeweler did not comment. He just led the captain back to his little shop and refused to accept anything more than half of the remaining balance on the ring; he had paid half when he had it commissioned. "Call it an apology," the man said as he handed the box to Steve.

When he opened the box to inspect his new possession, Steve smiled sadly. He had always envisioned this happening under happier circumstances. It was just as he requested, a plain domed band that gleamed under the electric lights.

"Thank you," he said to the jeweler, snapping the box shut. As he left the store, he stuffed it in his pocket beside its mate, containing the ring that would have been Tony's. Them bumping against his thigh with every step he took reanimated the lump that had seemingly taken up permanent residence in his throat.

On the way back to HQ, he remembered that he had to arrange for Tony's burial. It was still a shock to think that he had been put down as next-of-kin, despite that there weren't many others who could have been. With a sigh, he headed down to get the paperwork.

Then it was planning time. No matter that Bucky had done this, he was still Steve's best friend and now the only family he had left in the world. He wasn't going to lose Bucky, too.

He wasn't going to let Tony's prediction come true.

* * *

The morning after his interrogation Bucky felt sick as he headed to the coroner's office. It was nothing new to him; he'd felt ill ever since he pulled that thing, the arc reactor, out of Tony's chest in Austria. Now he was paying the price.

Truthfully, Bucky felt like he should have been shot. It might have made things even. And he wouldn't have to look at Steve's heartbroken, betrayed face every day.

Though he didn't quite feel he deserved that kind of reprieve either.

Through the past week those feelings of self-loathing and shock had warred with anger and disbelief at Tony. The man had never said that taking this thing out would kill him. If he had then Bucky would never have done it, he would have found another way to keep HYDRA from getting it. He would have taken Tony's place on the operating table if it came to that, if only to not see Steve wrecked.

Like he was now. God, Bucky had thought that the worst thing he could ever see was Steve in the throes of madness as he tore apart the HYDRA base with his bare hands. When his friend woke up in that hospital, he found out he was wrong. This was worse than any kind of rage. It was hell.

The guys thought so too. After Steve was aware of his surroundings and in control again they had scattered, their parts in this odyssey over for now. They were taking what comfort they could and remembering a teammate ripped from them too soon. By one of their own.

Those same hands would be helping to examine the corpse Bucky had made of one of his best friends.

Sooner than he realized, he was there. Hesitantly he knocked on the cold steel door.

"Come in." The call was in a high pitched voice with a British accent.

Bucky did so, closing the door neatly after himself. "Sergeant James Barnes reporting," he said grimly as he examined the room.

It was a bare place, with plain white walls only broken up by cabinets of supplies and a desk where a man sat in front of a typewriter. A steel door had a handle like that of an industrial freezer on one wall; it was probably where they stored the bodies. The lights were bright overhead and washed out everything, including the corpse laying on the metal table, surrounded by trays of instruments.

The medical examiner was a large guy for his high, soft voice, and had a face that Bucky could find no better word for than cherubic. Even with his bushy beard. "Doctor Robert Hilliard," he returned with a tight smile, "You'll want to wash your hands and snap on a pair of gloves and a mask." He pointed to the boxes of them that laid on a cabinet beside a huge trough sink.

Bucky did so without argument, heart racing as he did. This was where it began.

When he went to Dr Hilliard's side, he had to swallow back the bile that crept up his throat. Looking down at Tony's face, pale under the harsh lights, felt wrong. That face should be laughing or playing tonsil hockey with Steve or anything but still and looking so peaceful.

At least they had rearranged his expression before they got to Liechtenstein, Bucky privately acknowledged as Dr Hilliard signaled for the typist to begin. The grin on Tony's dead face had made their skin crawl.

"Victim is supposedly a 45-year-old male, though I don't believe that for a minute, and was brought in wearing standard issue army boots and pants, a ripped olive color overshirt, and a tan t-shirt," Dr Hilliard listed off with a brief look at it all, before picking up the dog tags that gleamed from where they laid on the overshirt, "Dog tags read Stark, Anthony E, Howling Commandos." He then listed off a series of numbers and their hometown, from before this clusterfuck. That the man was atheist wasn't a big surprise.

That was where Bucky's help was first enlisted and he was asked to help move Tony's limbs so that the clothing could be taken off. When his hands came into contact with cold skin, even through the gloves, he nearly gagged. Not even on their journey to Liechtenstein had he been so cold because Steve had refused to let go of him.

Once the corpse was naked, the examination continued. Bucky found a place where he was there enough to follow orders but not enough to feel the guilt and wrongness that this brought out. Tidbits of information filtered in anyways.

Everything seemed to be in good working order, too good for his age and occupation, Dr Hilliard thought, not counting the metal-ringed hole in his chest. There was no sign of decay, which was near-impossible due to the days and nights that the body had been unrefrigerated until it got here to London. Normal weight for his height, teeth were good, organs had a healthy sheen.

Bucky was involuntarily drawn out of his near-trance by the incredulity in Dr Hilliard's voice when he examined Tony's heart. Suddenly the smell hit him and he felt vomit in the back of his throat. Just like when he was the one on the table, he swallowed it down.

"I have found the cause of death: multiple shards of metal pierced the victim's heart," Dr Hilliard almost whispered as he held up the organ for closer examination.

There was no logical reason that Bucky was surprised at the sight. Of course a human heart wouldn't be heart-shaped. It shouldn't have been nearly so sparkly either, he was sure. It was covered in spikes of metal, some the size of his thumbnail and others like the head of a pin, to make the right lower quarter of it shine almost silvery in the light.

"Scars on the torso show that the shards came in through his front in a spray like I would expect from a landmine," Dr Hilliard continued, "From the silvery color and unraised quality of the scars I would estimate them at about twenty years old." Except that wasn't right. Those same scars had been slightly pink and still very much raised when he had stitched up that bullet hole in Tony's shoulder.

At the same time, a scrap of memory filtered through the confusion to hit Bucky like a brick. " _I made a missile that sent out shards of shrapnel into anyone within a twenty meter range."_ Suddenly, it made sense how Tony had gone from making weapons to being one; what had been the catalyst. He had been a victim of one of his own weapons.

That meant that the thing in his chest may have been some kind of magnet, to keep the metal from going any further in. And Bucky had removed it.

The rest of the autopsy went by in a blur of handing over tools and weighing organs. The brain, Dr Hilliard seemed especially fascinated by. Apparently it was more dense or tightly formed or something than any other one he had seen.

Somehow Bucky doubted that this was going to be the end of his discipline. No matter that it had done its job.

He had seen exactly what following that damn order had cost him and Steve and the entire war effort. He knew that it was his job to question things like this, and do so every single time he had doubts. He knew for a fact that Tony was right and it would just be Steve left standing at the end of this.

After all, as Tony had joked one night when they had climbed onto a roof to look at the stars, winter is coming.

The moment the autopsy was done and Tony put back together, Bucky was out of there like a bat out of hell. He didn't care that running was prohibited in the base. All he knew was that he needed a shower, he needed to rid himself of that smell and the feeling of cold dead skin.

They didn't go away for a week, in which Steve had managed to arrange for the funeral.

A fight had ensued over whether Tony would be able to be buried at Arlington, which he lost because of the uncertainty the higher-ups had about whether he was a spy. It was bullshit.

In the end, Steve managed to get a plot in Brooklyn, right beside his mother. What's more, he had miraculously convinced the higher-ups that even if they were restricting Tony from Arlington, he should be allowed a military funeral. Before his possible betrayal, he had served well.

In a (currently) rare time of unity off the battlefield, the Commandos all showed up at the office to demand that they be allowed to attend. With a convincing lie that they were an absurdly specialized unit and this front of the war ran on their time, they had won. After getting the letter Tony had sent to Colonel Phillips read off, even Bucky was allowed to go.

Coming home was nothing like he had imagined. Maybe it was the circumstances behind his brief sojourn back, or perhaps that he was different; he had been different since he got pulled off those damn tables and put Tony on one. But nothing seemed the same, from the kids that played in the street to blind old Theodosia's cackles over their antics.

A service was arranged and the pews were packed. There were speeches, of course, from politicians and military commanders, saying how valuable of a man they had lost and that he would be sorely missed. They made no mention of the doubts about his loyalties because this was a public event and they needed to keep up the image of the Howling Commandos as a united front.

Steve was the main speaker. "We're gathered here to not only mourn a hero, but celebrate a man," he said, winging it instead of looking at the cue cards he had brought up, "Tony Starosta-Stark was… my best friend." It was what they said when they couldn't say they were together. "He was compassionate, even if most of the time he made fun of you before helping you solve your problem. The most brilliant mechanic that I've ever seen- sorry, Howard, but it's true." He cracked a shadow of a grin at the man, who sat in the second row.I

There was a rumble of laughter even as Howard waved it away.

"He was one of the most brilliant inventors that I've ever known, one of the gutsiest soldiers I've ever fought alongside, and possibly the best man that I've ever come across. The kind of man that I've always wanted to be. In death, just as in life, he'll continue to inspire me to help create a better world. I'll never forget him. And I hope you don't either. Thank you for your time."

Every word he spoke was full of the love he couldn't put into words, every lingering look at the open coffin a kiss that he couldn't give. Bucky knew his friend well enough that if it were viable, he would have pulled a Quasimodo. (Yes, he read the book on the way over- and cried at the end.)

At the end of his speech he walked over to the casket and whispered to the body within. From his pocket he took something small out and placed it inside before taking even strides to his seat in the front row. Beside him, Bucky could tell that his eyes were red and swollen from days of nearly non-stop crying.

The hall rang with applause, louder than this place had probably received in months.

Then it was the funeral, and Bucky couldn't help his sigh of relief. It was echoed by most of his teammates, including Steve, in a moment of near-levity. He had never been one for sad occasions, especially since he had seen so many of them in his life already.

The entire apartment building showed up to the burial. Even the landlady, though she was distinctly less tearful than everyone else. Maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise, with what Tony had done for them, but it was anyways. Almost the whole of New York came, and the procession got a police escort.

When it was time to lay the casket in the ground, it was the Howling Commandos who insisted on doing the honor. Tony was theirs and it was their responsibility to see him properly at rest. There was no priest, no bible verses or prayers (he would have kicked their asses over it), just Taps and three volleys. The Commandos had done that too, Bucky being the one to fold the flag with Jim and hand it to Steve.

Afterward was a short party that had been set up to celebrate Tony's life rather than mourn his death. The Arab lady had made more shawarma than Bucky had ever seen in his life and it sent Steve nearly to tears when he got his own roll. There was no Tony to share it with, or to threaten anyone with death and dismemberment for touching _his_ shawarma.

Conspicuously absent were the people that Tony had talked about so fondly yet who never sent him mail. There was no sign of a super-soldier besides Steve, or a man with anger problems, and no one here stood out as flamboyantly gay. The assassins, Bucky didn't expect to see. After all, what kind of covert operatives would they be if they were easy to spot?

The idea seemed to bother Steve too, enough for him to actually speak to Bucky without that weird angry-but-trying-not-to-be sort of tone. "I thought he had easy to identify friends?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Some friends," Bucky returned, scowling. What kind of people were they? Or were they just going to send flowers or something? A mental image of a flower arrangement shaped like a penis came to mind.

They both snorted at the same time, probably thinking the same thing. They gave each other a startled, searching look before breaking into awkward giggles as they hung out at the back of the room. This was the first time they had been alone together in over a week, even if it was in the same room as a couple hundred other people.

"I miss this," Steve said sadly, giving his friend a small smile.

"Me too," Bucky admitted.

There was nothing more said as they watched the room, plates in hand. The neighbors all congregated and gossiped. Monty was flirting with the girl Bucky remembered living in 4C while Dum Dum and Jim traded war stories with some grizzled veterans. Frenchie chatted animatedly with a couple of French immigrants in their native tongue, Gabe joining in sometimes.

"I'm sorry I haven't been a good friend lately," Steve apologized nonsensically.

To avoid saying anything beyond a grunt, Bucky took a bite of shawarma. "Hm?" he asked through his mouthful.

"I keep forgetting I'm not the only one who lost him. You lost a friend too. And you're the one who actually... you know," Steve said awkwardly, looking around for anyone who could have overheard.

Luckily no one seemed to noticed. The nearest people, three burly dock workers, were in a playful argument over who had the best growing flowers or some crap like that.

Bucky took a few seconds to consider what his friend said. "Yeah, but he was your everything," he replied quietly, "I don't blame you. I'm the one who should be apologizing for not saying 'to hell with it' and telling you about the thing in his chest." It was one of the things that had haunted him the longest. Things would have been different if he had just said something to Steve about it. Shared his concerns. Why had he allowed Tony to convince him out of it?

"I knew, kind of," Steve revealed quietly. It was like a boot to the chest.

For several long moments there was silence as they people-watched. With the crowd but separate.

"What was it that you put in his coffin?" Bucky couldn't help asking. The only reason he hadn't asked before was that he wasn't sure he was allowed. They had been hot and cold lately.

In response, Steve held up his left hand. Where normally it was plain aside of maybe his glove, a silvery band gleamed on his ring finger. The wedding finger.

The amount of dedication that meant was enormous; the mere thought made the breath leave Bucky's lungs. It took several minutes to for him to recover, mind whizzing along at breakneck speed all the while. "I hope you're not planning on joining him," he said, affronted, worried and joking at the same time.

It was a relief to see the familiar stubbornness in Steve's blue eyes as he watched the crowd. "No, we're going to end this war once and for all, then we'll come back to Brooklyn," he said firmly. Like there was no thinkable alternative.

Bucky wasn't going to argue with that.

Soon enough the service was over and the Commandos were shipped back to England. A week later, Steve was called fit for duty again. The schedule of the war was rushing it, giving the SSR no choice but to put him back out on the field despite that he wasn't really ready yet. The same thing happened when they put together Bucky's paperwork.

The moment their papers were stamped, they were deployed to Czechoslovakia. It was one of the two remaining HYDRA bases, not counting the main base that no one had been able to find.

It said something that this was their quickest mission, despite being their toughest yet. Tony's death left a gap in their formations that felt wrong, that threw them off, but the ferocity they fought with more than made up for it. They wanted revenge for the events that caused the fall of their friend.

In a move that surprised everyone but Steve, Bucky took over the role that Tony had occupied for most of their history. When a sniper was no longer needed, he would shoulder his rifle and sprint down to the main battle to fight like a madman. Moves that he borrowed from the repertoires of his friend and the Winter Soldier alike helped clear the way, felling HYDRA soldiers left and right.

For the first time Bucky was glad that he had been experimented on in Italy. Whatever they had done to him, he had gotten used to it. Learned to work with it. And it had made all the difference, given him strength and speed and endurance that he never thought he would see anywhere but in Steve's now familiar bulky frame.

By the end of the battle, the barrels of his pistols were warped from how many times he fired them. He didn't miss a single shot.

The missions only got more difficult from there, but dogged determination and a thirst for vengeance made them a hot knife. They were deployed more and more often, the battles with the regular German army becoming fiercer with their desperation as the Allies encroached on their homeland. HYDRA was wavering, their forces decimated and resources sundered.

Ironically, it was Valentine's Day when Bucky fell. One minute he had taken up Steve's shield and was using it to fend off enemy attacks and the next he had been hit, thrown out the side of the train. Only his grip on a rapidly weakening handrail kept him from plunging into the canyon below.

Instinct made him reach for Steve's hand. Rationality made him miss. It was too far away, Steve wouldn't have anything to hold onto, any steady footing, and they would both fall.

Not for the first time, but definitely for the last, Bucky put his best friend ahead of himself. When the railing he clung to was wrenched from the splinters of the train, he allowed himself to fall with it. For as long as he could he watched Steve, only feeling regret that he was leaving his best friend alone.

The impact with the ground was agonizing. It felt like his entire body had broken and he couldn't feel most of his left arm. Everything was freezing.

Even though it made him want to puke, Bucky chuckled. Tony was right; Steve really was the last one standing.

Fully expecting to die, he passed out.

An unknown amount of time later, he woke up to being dragged through the snow. Fear spiked through him more at the red star on the man's fur hat than that his left arm was gone. It couldn't be.

When Bucky next woke, it was to Zola. "You should not be awake," the toad said in a voice that could have been called sweet.

Dazed, Bucky put his hands up to his face; he could control them both again. But how, one of them was- when he saw the metal arm that had been attached to his shoulder, he screamed.

In the few seconds before the sedatives took effect, Bucky fought and struggled and if ever anyone asked, he would never admit that he cried. Because finally, he understood. He understood everything.

The Winter Soldier had been trying to commit suicide, but not in the way that Tony had said. He was trying to kill his previous self. To keep himself from existing.

Because Bucky Barnes was the Winter Soldier.

As he passed out, he laughed hysterically. Winter is coming, indeed.

* * *

It was a blow that the SSR thought Steve would never recover from, and they were right. He never did get over it. But not in the way they thought.

Instead of going catatonic like he had after Tony's death, he became the sword of vengeance the SSR needed to get this done and over with. He was rash about it sometimes, and more than a little shield-happy, but it got the job done and he lived through it all and no one said a word.

Peggy and Howard were his supports now, his moral compass and the one who made him laugh. They were the ones to mop him up on the rare times he came back to England and the ones to get him through the days until this was over.

For several weeks he forgot about the note that he had taken off the Winter Soldier's belt. After one mission that left Steve in the hospital for three days, Peggy visited with the information she had gathered.

"Oh Steve," she sighed, looking at where he laid.

Even with his insane healing he was banged up. A flail chest, torn achilles tendon, two bullet holes and a concussion were nothing to joke about. Especially not when he had them all at the same time. "Hey Peggy," Steve greeted her with an awkward smile.

"How are you doing?" she asked. The look on her face was calm and professional, but there was a sadness to her smile that didn't suit her.

"Doc says I'll be back in action tomorrow," Steve reported with a grimace. This was the longest he'd been bedridden since Project Rebirth. Already he was itching to get out onto the field again.

There were no words of comfort, but there were none of reprimand either. Instead, Peggy offered a few folded pieces of paper. "We were finally able to crack that note you found," she shared with extreme gravity, "It was Howard of all people who did it. The cypher was computer code." She paused, wondering whether she should say what was on her mind.

It was enough time for Steve to unfold the papers she handed him and draw in a sharp breath. He barely even winced when it irritated most of his injuries. But this couldn't be…

"Somehow he knew Sergeant Barnes's movements as far back as two years ago, according to the age of the paper, even including… the train," Peggy continued bravely. That she was willing to mention the incident to Steve's face said a lot.

"That can't be…" Steve muttered. Not even Bucky knew what would happen to him that far back. Hell, half the time none of them knew what they would be doing the next week.

"Whoever he was, the man you found this on was dangerous, And he has dangerous friends who for some reason wanted Sergeant Barnes dead," Peggy stated. That was an understatement.

Steve answered the unasked question of why, explaining what Tony had said about it being a suicide mission. Even now it hurt to talk about.

"Who was it that you got this off of?" Peggy asked nonsensically. How had she forgotten about the Winter Soldier? When he explained, she frowned. "I don't remember that," she said, almost to herself, "I can have my contacts look into him." It was exactly like the last time he had told her about the Winter Soldier.

Through it Peggy listened calmly, asked questions about things that were unclear. When she was satisfied, she hummed thoughtfully. "There's not much we can do right now," she said briskly, "I was actually sent to give you the parameters for your next mission…" She frowned at the hastiness of the assignment.

They both knew that Steve would take it anyway. And he wouldn't be doing it alone.

The Commandos were worn down but never refused an assignment, even if they should have, whether it was a full scale battle or checking the conditions of a village. Their loyalty warmed Steve's heart.

It was strange though, that their memories became hazy and unclear as time went on. The first sign was when they had to hide in an abandoned farmhouse and realized that the chickens had gone feral. "Good thing Tony's not here," Steve joked and ignored the pang that the memory brought.

"Huh?" Jim asked, eyebrow raised. The others simply looked at him like he was speaking Russian.

Steve frowned. "You remember, that time our cover got blown because Tony was attacked by chickens?" he prompted.

Monty chuckled even as he shook his head.

"So that's what did it…" Dum Dum mumbled thoughtfully, "I always wondered what happened there."

Fear spiked through Steve even as he asked what they remembered of the man he loved. His heart dropped; they had vague memories of someone being there, but couldn't remember very well who. In most of the incidents they described, Bucky or Peggy or Howard replaced him in their memories.

They had no recollection of the Winter Soldier. Not even of the explosive fight he died in.

It seemed that he wasn't the only one to notice. The night they got back Howard stumbled into Steve's room with blood-shot eyes and too much alcohol on his breath. "Please tell me he was real, please tell me I'm not losing my mind," he begged. He was too drunk for his grip on Steve's collar to be so tight.

"I remember," Steve told him firmly, "You're not going crazy." Somewhere in the back of his head he wondered if the last part was a lie.

Howard cried himself out on Steve, and between the exhaustion and alcohol he had to spend the night. When he walked out the door the next morning, a slightly better put together mess, Steve could have heard a pin drop in the hallway. What seemed like the entire compound was staring, judging, as they watched the biggest playboy in town leave virtuous Captain America's room at six in the morning, looking a mess and whistling happily.

It was easy for Steve to ignore them; he was busy planning the final mission. It had to be perfect.

When the last battle finally came, Steve found it poetic that he would face Red Skull alone. That it was on the very aircraft that his friends had been forced to labor on at Azzano brought a sort of poignancy to it. They were here in spirit, the results of their hard (forced) work all around him even though they couldn't be here physically.

Thank God they weren't.

The fight was long and hard, but Steve had grown almost immune to physical pain by now. What could ever hold a candle to the sort of agony that had been festering in his chest since Tony died and Bucky fell? It made the difference when the only two who had ever survived the super soldier serum faced off; one fought for himself and the other for not just vengeance, but the world his loved ones would have wanted.

When Red Skull grabbed the Cube and disappeared in a rainbow flash, it was anticlimactic. The innocent looking blue box melting straight through the bottom of the jet was even more so. It fell into the water and Steve breathed a sigh of relief as he sat at the controls. He hoped it would never be found.

"Command, this is Steve Rogers. Is anyone there?" he called into the radio. When he looked at the controls in front of him, he didn't understand any of it. None of his training had ever been on how to fly a regular plane, never mind a giant HYDRA bomber.

Jim's voice was a relief. "Captain Rogers, this is command. What is your-"

Peggy seemed to have pushed him aside, because her voice came in loud and clear. "Steve? Are you alright?" Her concern was touching.

"I'm fine. Peggy, Schmidt's dead," Steve reported. Now that it was done, he didn't feel any of the jubilation he thought he would. Just relief that it was finally over.

"And the plane?" she questioned.

"That's a little harder to explain," Steve said with a look at the radar. When he saw how fast it was going, his heart sped up with fear. They were going to reach the States in only a few minutes.

"Give me your coordinates. I'll find you a safe landing site," Peggy told him, relief and pride in every syllable.

"This thing's going too fast and it's headed for New York. There's not going to be a safe landing," Steve told her what he had just realized himself.

There was a brief pause. "Let me get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do," Peggy said.

"There's no time," Steve refuted with another look at the radar. He was coming up on Greenland now. The realization came up on him quickly. "I'm gonna have to put her in the water."

"Please Steve, we can work it out," Peggy begged. He hated to hear the desperation in her voice.

"If I don't do it now, a lot of people are gonna die," Steve returned. He found the words for what he needed to say, and they came out past a lump in his throat. "Peggy, this is my choice."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Peggy, you there?" he called as he yanked the controls to send the plane into a nosedive. The light of the sun, just rising in this part of the world, was blinding but soothing. One last dawn for Captain America.

His eyes went to the ring on his finger, a source of comfort in the past several months. It was just as smooth and shiny as when he first took it out of the box.

"I'm here," she answered in a breaking voice.

It took a moment to figure out what to say. Then Steve remembered their conversations about dancing, and her promise to teach him how since Tony wouldn't be able to, before she had forgotten his existence entirely, "I'm gonna have to get a raincheck on that dance," he said.

"Alright," she agreed with a shuddering breath, "A week from now, next Saturday, at the Stork Club. And don't you dare be late." Even crying, she managed to be commanding.

"You've got it," Steve promised, knowing that it was a lie. He wished that it wouldn't be, that there was a chance of surviving to actually be there. Just to see her smile. She was too beautiful to cry like this, too good a friend to be left with a promise that broke even as it tumbled past his lips.

They talked about the dance that they would never have and Steve found himself smiling even as he saw the ice in all its terrifyingly beautiful detail. "We'll have the band play something slow," he said, even as fear blocked his throat, "I'd hate to step on your-"

He was cut off when the nose of the Valkyrie hit the ice and slammed him forward into the controls. With a groan, he tumbled to the floor. Everything spun and he knew he had a concussion.

Before his eyes closed, he took a last look at the band around his finger. He'd see Tony soon.

A laugh gurgled out of his throat even as he felt icy water nip at his legs. He never hated anywhere as much as he hated Greenland.

When he passed out, Steve Rogers didn't expect to wake up.


	16. Epilogue: The Stark Truth

Thank you so much to all those who have reviewed, followed and favorited! You're the reasons I kept posting, no matter that this was already finished. Especially you reviewers. Speaking of whom, many thanks to **tigerlilly** , **Hermione J Granger Malfoy** , **Oblivion772** , and **auerlia** for your wonderful reviews!

 **Hermione J Granger Malfoy** : Glad I was able to recruit you to the dark side, and I'm honored that you liked this enough to change your opinion on Stony.

This has been a wonderful journey, and I'm so honored to have shared it with all of you. This is the last section of Eyes of Icarus, but I'm working on the sequel, _Walking the Fallen Cities_. It will likely be my Camp NaNo project to help me get the words out. I plan to begin posting the first Wednesday of June, so hopefully I'll see you then! Thank you so much for reading!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

 **Epilogue: The Stark Truth**

" _A tormented mind wants to forget, what a broken heart will always remember."_

― _Anthony Liccione_

Today was sunny, but Howard felt like it would better be served by clouds. The day that Captain Steven Rogers was lost, twenty five years ago.

The world had moved on in that time. The war was over and a new generation being spawned. Even he and Peggy had gotten in on that, separately, of course.

Well, kind of. In a way an organization was like a child, he thought, it needed attention and nurturing and finances. SHIELD was far from a fledgling anymore, but some things never go away.

The thought of children made pride balloon in his chest. Maria was at home with Tony and he couldn't wait to get back to them. But business is business; he couldn't keep the director of SHIELD waiting.

When he knocked on the door to Peggy's office, he didn't wait for the go-ahead to answer in a routine of his that he knew irritated her. Even at fifty, he still liked to harass her in minor ways that wouldn't get him shot at.

Fondly, Howard remembered the time that Steve had asked for her opinion on the shield he picked after pissing her off. Poor fool. She had been angry that she found him being lip-assaulted by Maria, but hell if either of them could remember why she wasn't angry on her own behalf as well as his.

The reminiscences were put on hold as Peggy sighed in greeting. "Hello, Howard." She was tired more often than not these days, almost fully grey with crow's lines and laugh lines, but she was still beautiful. Still bossy too, as she ordered him to sit down while she went through some papers.

One of those was a picture and the contents made Howard have to swallow a lump suddenly in his throat as he sat down. When he reached for it, she didn't berate him.

In the picture were three men, all asleep crowded onto one camp bed. Steve laid on his back, a line of saliva trailing down his cheek while Bucky Barnes used one of his shoulders for a pillow. The dark-haired man had curled that arm around his front so that the large hand rested against his abdomen and his mouth was open, undoubtedly snoring. The last man seemed so familiar, but Howard couldn't recall him even as he looked at a picture of him sleeping on top of Captain America, their legs tangled together intimately and one arm thrown over Barnes. There was something about the face, or was it the messy dark hair…?

"Who's this?" he asked, pointing at the third man in the picture.

Peggy's smile was tight and her dark eyes were stormy. "That's what I was wondering," she said, handing over the paperwork she had been looking through.

When Howard looked through it, he saw all kinds of records from the army. There was an enlistment record for an Anthony Starosta, which rang a bell somewhere deep inside him. A notice of his capture by HYDRA and subsequent POW status, then rescue by Captain America from the labs followed.

"I thought Barnes was the only one who survived the experiments?" Howard checked to see if he was going crazy in his old age.

If he was, it wasn't just him. Peggy gestured for him to continued. "I thought the same, but then I found those. In a freezer there have been samples with that name on them dated from 1945 and instructions to not open them until we had the technology to ascertain who they belonged to. It seems that no one was clear as to who he was after his death," she said.

When Howard got to the record of a piece of technology that was pulled out of this man's chest, he choked. "That's my signature, but I don't remember this," he said aggravatedly, waving the report at Peggy.

Though now that he thought about it, the design described looked exactly like the broken piece of junk that had given him the idea for his arc reactor…

"Do you ever feel like you're forgetting something?" Peggy questioned keenly as he went through the autopsy report and photos, "Do you ever remember something and then decide that it doesn't feel right? Like there's something about it that you're remembering wrong but you don't know any other way that it could possibly be?"

The concept was more familiar than Howard liked. "Half the time when I think about Steve," he admitted.

"According to that paperwork, this man was a part of the Howling Commandos. He lived in the same apartments as Steve and worked on the docks, but before that there's no record of him anywhere. Like he was born the same day he began work," Peggy said with a dirty look at the paperwork in Howard's hands.

"And this says that one of the names he used was Anthony Stark," Howard said with a frown.

"Didn't you and Maria have a row over Tony's name?" Peggy asked.

Howard let out a bark of a laugh. Calling it a row was like calling Steve 'not weak'. "I had to sleep on your couch for two weeks and then we argued for another three months," he reminded her. "I don't even know why it was so important." He never did. It just was. If he lost this argument then something was going to go seriously wrong.

"Maybe there's something we're all forgetting," Peggy said thoughtfully.

"Like the Mandela Effect?" Howard asked. It was a new theory of people switching to and from alternate realities without noticing, and he found himself intrigued by the thought.

"Except that that's misremembering, not forgetting," Peggy corrected, sitting back in her chair with a thoughtful hum, "This is more like… worldwide amnesia. Not even the Commandos remember him."

Now that was a strange thought. "You think someone made us all forget?" Howard asked, concerned. What would the logistics of it be? That would be impossible without some kind of magic.

"I don't know, and I won't know until I can get more information," Peggy replied with a twist of her painted lips.

For a moment they were silent, each contemplating the possibility. Howard wondered if there was a possible connection between this strange man who he had forgotten and his son. They had the same name and his wife's maiden name was Starosta. This man looked like a Stark, even if the only pictures available of him besides the sleeping picture and his autopsy photos were grainy black and white shots from far away.

"Have you heard anything about the Winter Soldier?" Howard asked suddenly. It was one of the things on the agenda for this meeting. The man had become a real pain in the neck, killing high profile targets despite that there was no proof of his existence.

Peggy's eyes went wide. "That… I don't know how, but I know that name…" she mumbled to herself, massaging her temples.

"Think it has anything to do with this guy?" Howard asked, tapping the papers that he had put down on the desk. He refused to say the name, uncomfortable with the parallels he was drawing.

"Maybe. Either way, he's being a nuisance and we still don't know if he's anything more than a ghost story," Peggy said, shaking her head in disappointment.

Howard smiled sympathetically. "He has to slip up sometime," he said in an attempt at comfort.

"It isn't soon enough. His target this time was a little girl, the Moroccan ambassador to Chile's daughter," Peggy said quietly, "She was seven years old and they found her with her brain spread across half the room."

They didn't know anything about this assassin. Not even if it was just one person, or a group of them. The only proof they had were the bullets- Soviet made, no rifling- and that all the shots were done from a distance by an expert marksman.

"How's your search going?" Peggy questioned, changing the subject.

When Howard shrugged, it was with a pained smile. "The usual. Ice, more ice, and the occasional polar bear." He didn't say that there was no sign of his target; there was no need to.

For the past twenty five years he had been looking for Captain America with no luck. Sure, he found the Tesseract, but that wasn't his aim. It brought him nothing but anger to see the tiny cube that had helped to destroy the three best men he had ever-

Three?

The back of Howard's brain started throbbing with the thought and he gritted his teeth against it. Where was this coming from?

"Are you alright?" Peggy's voice cut through the pain in his head. She was leaning forward again, concern radiating from her suddenly tense shoulders and the lines between her brows.

"Yeah, yeah…" Howard shook his head and the pain cleared out like it had never been. His train of thought steamed right along after it.

"Maybe it's time to stop," Peggy suggested softly.

In a motion that made his neck crack, Howard's head snapped upward so that he could stare at her with wide eyes. Stop? Why would she of all people suggest that?

"Live your life. Spend time with your wife and son," Peggy said, smiling in a way told him how much she understood how he felt about the idea, "I think Steve would say a quarter of a century is long enough to go searching for a body to bury."

No matter how right she was, and Cap really would say that, the thought didn't sit right with Howard. "I can't, Peg," he confided in a near-whisper, "He gave everything for us. It isn't right for us to not do the same for him." More than that, he felt it in his heart; he knew that he was doing it for some other reason, for some other _person_ but he couldn't register who it was or why.

The two founding members of SHIELD shared a moment of silence for the man who inspired the name of their organization. Who better to recall when building something that would help to save the world from future threats? It was supposed to be a shield defending the innocent from the most evil of schemes, just like Captain Rogers did.

"I need to go, I'm taking Tony to the park today so Maria can get some down-time," Howard said, getting to his feet. brushed the creases from his pants absently, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Playfully Peggy raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have a nanny for just that purpose?" she asked.

Howard simply winked in reply. He adored his son more than anything else in the world.

As he left Peggy's office, Howard wondered what Steve would say about the discussion that just happened. Would he tell them affectionately that they were nuts, or would he think they were onto something? Likely the latter. He had always said to trust their instincts.

Well Howard's were leading him straight home and toward Tony.

That was something he was sure the captain would approve of.

* * *

In 2015, a man with messy brown hair laid in a hospital bed. He was more muscular and tan than he should have been after not having moved an inch in three months, looking like he was simply asleep. Machines were hooked up to him, but only to monitor his vitals.

It was nighttime and he was alone in the room, leaving the shadows to curl and twist around him, almost embracing the unconscious figure. The occasional nurse would peep in, and as soon as they saw that nothing had changed, they would leave to attend their other patients. It was a well-developed routine.

That night was different. Eyelids fluttered open and brown eyes lazily took everything in.

"Well I'll be goddamned," Tony Stark whispered before he fell back to sleep.


	17. Notice: Sequel-Prequel Up!

Hey guys, it's been a while! Just letting everyone know that the sequel is going up today! It's called **Walking the Fallen Cities** and in the Avengers category rather than the crossovers. I have plans to post on Fridays. I only have four chapters written, so there may be some weeks wher I don't post for lack of material, but I have every intention of keeping up.

 **Summary** : Palladium poisoning, Norse gods, and a ghost story all twist together, and Steve Rogers knew far too much about all of it from the first time he opened his eyes in the 21st century. It leaves Tony scrambling for answers even as he helps save the world. A forbidden relationship ended tragically in 1944, a plethora of evidence but none that makes sense, a journal of impossible things. The only common denominator: Anthony Starosta, a dead man who shares his face.

In a world where Tony Stark stuck to the cue cards and Captain America remembers the time traveler he loves, what can change?

I hope to see you all there!

-Thrae


End file.
